


A Different Kind of Coco

by detectivejigsaw



Series: Season of the Bruja [2]
Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Curses, Danger, F/M, Gen, Kidnapped! Miguel, Revenge, Riveras to the Rescue, Supernatural - Freeform, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2019-08-24 09:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 21,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16637420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detectivejigsaw/pseuds/detectivejigsaw
Summary: Ernesto pays a dangerous price to get revenge on the Riveras for taking everything from him-and gets in way, way over his head.Has references to "The Book of Life," but I don't think it's enough to really constitute a crossover.  Contains a few OCs, and references to traditional mythology, because I'm a mythology nut.  I'm also a gringa, so I apologize for any egregious errors vis-a-vis Hispanic culture.





	1. Season of the Bruja

**Chapter One**

Season of the  _ Bruja _

Or

Ernesto makes a bad decision (again)

* * *

There was one place in the Land of the Dead where Ernesto de la Cruz could stay without being arrested, or mobbed by angry citizens, or both.

Just as the part of Shantytown where Héctor Rivera used to live* had been for those who were being forgotten, or at least never put on the ofrenda on Dia de Muertos, there was another part for people who were in no danger of being forgotten, but nobody wanted them to come back.  Many of them were people to whom Ernesto’s rap sheet was just amateur work. Murderers, banditos, people who had committed crimes far too horrible to mention-they all lived in a secluded corner of Shantytown where they found, for want of a better word, acceptance.

Here Ernesto and his alebrijes made their way after his crimes were exposed to the public...and he hid, and thought, and as the days turned to months, his anger and hatred grew.

 

Funny; it had been a long time since he had actually hated Héctor.

The last time he could recall was that day when his singing partner had finally decided to leave, taking his precious songs with him, and in his anger he had made the executive decision to ensure that they would stay with him for good.

Since then, he’d felt an odd sort of...well, gratitude to Héctor, for providing him with the means to his success, when he’d bothered to think of him at all.  Which he had barely done for years, until his old  _ amigo _ showed up in his house dressed as Frida Kahlo.

But now…

Now that he’d lost everything he’d worked so hard for, now that he was probably banned from the Land of the Living** and the illustrious mansion which had been his home for the rest of eternity, a ball of hot, burning hate started to grow between his ribs, right where his chest and stomach used to be.

 

The question was, what could he do?

No matter what he considered, he knew Héctor would be encircled by the rest of his cursed family who would be on him like a pack of coyotes if he came within ten feet of them.

So, at risk of bringing the wrath of the entire Rivera clan even further on his head...Ernesto knew that he wanted the boy who had started all of this.

Miguel Rivera was still living; his heart still beat in his chest, he still had skin and muscle and blood covering his bones.

Ergo, he was vulnerable, if only Ernesto could find some way of getting to him.

And then he heard about the  _ bruja _ .

 

Some of his fellow undesirables, former henchmen of a  _ bandito _ named Chakal, were whispering about her one night over tequila.  About how rumor had it that even in death, she had kept her powers, and if you paid the right price, she could do favors for you.  They even believed that if she wanted, she could send you back to the land of the living; however, nobody was sure what the price for that was, so nobody they knew of had dared try it.

 

In life, Ernesto had never taken interest in the existence of  _ brujeria _ , or really much of anything outside his musical career once it took off, unless you counted beautiful young women.  So he hadn’t developed a particular belief in or intimidation towards the black arts. He didn’t know if he believed their story.  But at this point, he was just desperate enough to try anything.

* * *

The  _ bruja’s _ home, he discovered, was on the edge of a cliff, just above the enormous black chasm over which the marigold bridges appeared during Dia de Muertos.  It was a dilapidated wooden shack-just the kind of place you would expect a witch to live in, honestly. All the windows had been smashed long ago, the wood was all bent and warped with age, and the whole thing leaned to one side like a bent old man.  The only evidence of its being occupied was a small, yellow light glowing inside.

The path was strewn with overgrown plants and piles of debris, which Ernesto had to pick his way around.  When he reached the door, it creaked open before he could knock, and a low, smoky voice said, “Come in, Señor de la Cruz.”

It would have been more impressive without the anachronistic security camera hanging conspicuously over the door, but he went inside anyway.

 

The first thing he saw clearly amongst the gloom was a candle sitting on an old wooden table, next to a small goblet and a glass carafe.  Inside the carafe was a thick-looking red liquid that, in this lighting, looked an awful lot like-

Ernesto shook his head at himself, turning around-and let out an extremely undignified squeal when he nearly bumped into the  _ bruja _ , who was standing right behind him.

She was shorter than he was, and probably would have been more bone than flesh even if she wasn’t a skeleton.  Her clothes consisted of a baggy poncho and a skirt which both looked like they’d been made out of a patchwork quilt, colored red and brown and blue and every other color you could imagine.  Her dark*** hair was long and loose over her shoulders, with a few braids woven into it here and there. The braids in turn had beads and feathers and ribbons wound into them, leading Ernesto to wonder if she’d been alive during the sixties or something.

 

His musings were interrupted by the  _ bruja _ asking in that smoky voice, “What do you call a funny witch?”

Ernesto blinked.  “I-what?”

“It’s not a difficult question.”

She waited for a few seconds before evidently seeing that he wasn’t going to answer, and blurted out, “A  _ brouhaha _ !”

She gave him a brilliant smile, revealing long, pointed teeth.

 

Ernesto blinked again, very nonplussed.

Finally the  _ bruja  _ sighed.  “Yeah, Quixote didn’t think it was funny either.”  She pointed to an alebrije who was now sitting on the table; it looked like something between an owl and a dragon.  When Ernesto set eyes on it, its neck feathers puffed up and it hissed at him.

“Behave yourself,” she said to it with a warning glare as she moseyed to the table and poured herself a drink.  Fingering the goblet, she looked her guest up and down, taking in the remains of his no-longer pristine  _ charro _ suit and messy hair.  Even though she clearly knew who he was, her expression held nothing but intense thoughtfulness.  Finally she asked, “So, what can I do for you?”

“Is it true that you can send someone back to the Land of the Living?”

 

The  _ bruja  _ sipped her drink.

Then she asked, “Why would you want to go back?”  A sly twinkle appeared in her eyes. “Not feeling at home here anymore?”

Ernesto gritted his teeth.  “I...need to find someone.” That seemed ambiguous enough, just in case.

“Ah, so you’re in the revenge business.”  Then she tilted her head. “You know, technically most people would argue that things are settled between you and the Rivera clan-since, you know, you struck the first blow against them and your recent bad luck is just you finally reaping the consequences for murder and theft.  Taking revenge on them now would tip the scales out of order again.”

“Are you going to help me or not?!” he demanded, refusing to admit to himself that her words had hit a nerve.

The  _ bruja _ tilted her drink, watching it reflect the light in its depths as she pursed her lips.****  “I  _ can _ .  The question is, what have you got to offer me in return?”

 

Ernesto only hesitated a moment, wracking his brains for anything she might find useful.

“I have three alebrijes.  You can take them.”

Quixote let out a squawking hoot that almost sounded indignant, and the  _ bruja _ ’s eyes widened.

“Giving up your widow’s mite.  Impressive...but not necessary, I don’t think.”  She put down the goblet, which Quixote immediately began drinking out of, and toyed with the fringe of her poncho.  “It’s...not easy, what you request. There is a great sacrifice you will have to make, if you truly want to be able to go back.  Of course, I can see you’re willing to give up a lot for this-”

Ernesto’s fist slammed into the table before he even realized he had crossed the room.  “I am willing to do  _ whatever it takes _ .”  Maybe he had used the mantra too many times in life and death, but this was only the second time the words had been spoken with this much rancor in them.  And as always, it was spoken with utter sincerity

Slowly, the  _ bruja _ ’s face split into another wide, pointed grin.  “I just love it when people say that.”

* * *

With that, the carafe was taken away, and in its place she brought forward a miniature cauldron, and a few powders and liquids that Ernesto didn’t know the names of.  The  _ bruja _ began tossing things into the cauldron, stirring with a wooden spoon that Quixote fetched, muttering to herself.

“Not an exact match...but close enough...if I just combine the two...and a little...yes,  _ perfecto _ …”

Ernesto watched, and wondered what it was she wanted him to give up.  His response had seemed to satisfy her that they could do business, but she hadn’t said what the price would ultimately be.

Finally, she turned to face him.  “Just one more thing…” And before he knew what she was doing she reached right under his tattered coat, and into his ribcage.

There was a moment of hot phantom pain running all the way through the  _ músico _ ’s bones...and then she was withdrawing her hand.  Clenched in it was a molten, glowing orb.

The  _ bruja _ whistled.  “That is a lot bigger than I thought it would be.”

Ernesto gasped, feeling his chest.  Feeling how suddenly hollow he was, and wondering what she had taken from him.  “How-what-”

“It’s magic,  _ músico _ .  That’s all the explanation you need.”  She dropped the orb into the cauldron, causing a small explosion of red smoke, and then finished stirring it all together.

 

The finished product was another red, syrupy liquid-but this one had sparks of fire inside, and a few swirls of black.  And there was enough to fill a glass helpfully provided by Quixote.

The  _ bruja _ handed it to him.  “Drink that, and you should get what you’re looking for.”

Anyone else would have thought to ask what would happen, what it would do to him.  Ernesto just seized the moment.

“By the way,” he heard the  _ bruja _ say as he gulped it down, “this might sting a little.”

 

Five minutes later, when the screaming finally stopped, she gave an appraising look.

“That turned out better than I thought.”

She stooped to pick something up off the floor, twirling it between her fingers as Quixote approached, bearing a large sack.

The thing formerly known as Ernesto de la Cruz grabbed it, hoisting it over his shoulder like he’d done it a thousand times before.  As he did, the golden glow of  _ cémpazuchitl _ petals began to surround him.

The  _ bruja _ waved her free fingers at him with a grin.  “ _ Adios _ ,  _ El Silbón _ .”

* * *

As Ernesto disappeared from the Land of the Dead, Socorro Rivera, known to many as Coco, or Mamá Coco, entered it, and for the first time in decades was joyfully reunited with both of her loving parents.

 

And deep in the shadows of Shantytown, three little alebrijes were left without a master.

* * *

 

*Well, be dead in, but you know what I mean.

**Even if someone did put up his photo now, he wasn’t fool enough to believe he could get past security to reach the bridge.

***But graying in a few places.

****Or whatever you called the skeletal equivalent.


	2. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime

**Chapter Two**

The curious incident of the dog in the nighttime

Or

The Whistler

* * *

Miguel Rivera slumped in his chair at the dinner table, eyes drooping, and missed the days when he had been an only child.

It wasn’t that he necessarily _minded_ having a baby sister, especially since she was named for his beloved (and now dearly missed) great-grandmother.  But he did find himself wishing that just once, she would sleep through the night.

Little Coco was almost four months old, and, as he had learned, had an excellent lung capacity.  Unfortunately, she seemed to have the desire to show it off at the most inappropriate times, such as the middle of the night while everyone else was trying to sleep.

Miguel’s parents had said, the one time he complained, that Coco was too little to do certain things for herself and that crying was just her way of asking for help.  Miguel had barely stopped himself from asking, “Then what about all those times when she doesn’t seem to want anything?”

 

Don’t misunderstand him, though.

Despite his current annoyance, on the whole Miguel was a lot happier than he’d been in a long time.

He’d been finding it easier to remember how much his family loved him, and how much he loved them, ever since returning from the Land of the Dead.  It definitely helped that the Riveras and the world of music had finally found a truce, and he didn’t have to pick one or the other, but Miguel had even found a sort of enjoyment in helping out in the shop, now that he knew it wasn’t the only option for his future that they would support.

And while he didn’t necessarily think about it every day, he made sure not to forget his adventure-or his Papa Héctor.  Not that forgetting would be easy-he was reminded of them every time he went by the ofrenda room, or Mamá Coco’s room, or picked up his guitar.  And he believed (Knew? Hoped?) with all his heart that Héctor was okay, and that he and his daughter were catching up on lost times together.

 

Miguel tried to fight back a yawn as he picked up a tamale and went through the suddenly-arduous process of eating it.

At least it wasn’t two babies at once, like when Benny and Manny were born, he reminded himself.  At least he probably got a little more sleep than he had back then, so maybe his brains weren’t completely turning into mush-

“Miguel!”

Miguel’s eyes snapped open, and he shot upright with a gasp.  “ _Si Abuelita!_ ”

Elena Rivera put a weathered hand to his forehead and tilted his head back, frowning.

“ _Ay_ , _mijo_ , what’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing,” he tried to protest.  “I’m just-”

She interrupted, as per usual, having figured out the problem on her own.  “You look exhausted. Go get some sleep before you pass out here at the table.”

Miguel shook himself.  “I’m okay, if anyone needs sleep it’s Mamá.”

Luisa, his mother, gave him a warm smile.  “Thank you, _mijo_ .  But _abuela_ is right.  You should go rest.  Maybe you can take a turn with your sister if she wakes up during the night.”

Miguel nodded and got up, trying not to think _Yeah, great_.  Barely taking the time to kick off his shoes, he flopped face first into his pillow, and was out like a light.

* * *

For a while, he dreamed of nothing, really.  Just indistinct images and splashes of color that came and went before his mind’s eye.

Then a sound began to permeate his subconscious.  It was a low, long, haunting tune, rising up the musical scale, and it started out sounding very close, practically in his ear, but then moving farther and farther away.  Even in his sleep, he was struggling to identify what it was, thought he could almost place it-

A torrent of barking and snarling woke him up with a jolt, and nearly caused him to fall out of bed, in fact.

 

Miguel sat up, heart racing, and then realized what was going on.  He scrambled to the window and stuck his head out.

“Dante!   _Callate_!”

The Xolo dog was, for once, standing still in the middle of the courtyard, and barking with extreme prejudice at the gate.

Miguel climbed through the window and rushed in his bare feet to the dog.

“Dante!” he hissed indignantly.  “What’s wrong with you?! Be quiet!”

Dante ignored him, staring rigidly at the shadows and growling.  If he’d had hair, it would have been bristling all over.

Miguel squinted at the darkness, thinking that if it was another cat, so help him-

There was something there.

 

Miguel only caught a glimpse of it before it began to move out of view, but it was tall.  And pale.

And as it disappeared, he heard the beginning of that sound, slowly coming closer this time, that low musical scale-

A shoe barely missed his ear, smashing into the gate.

“Miguel!” Elena’s dulcet tones rang through the courtyard with jarring suddenness.

Miguel yelped, and then snatched up the sandal, whirling around.

His grandmother, clad in a white nightdress and a scowl, stood in the doorway, framed by light.

“There was someone at the gate!” Miguel called, running back to her.  “Dante was just scaring him off!”

She snatched her shoe back from him, clenching it in her hand and only looking the tiniest bit mollified that the dog wasn’t just barking at nothing.

“You know the rules!  You can only keep him if he learns how to behave himself!  That includes being quiet when respectable people are trying to sleep!”  With that, she marched back to her room, muttering to herself about how it was bad enough that her sweet precious angel granddaughter was having trouble sleeping through the night.

 

Dante, who had followed his master back to the door, uttered a small whimper and pushed his nose into Miguel’s hand.

The boy scratched him absentmindedly, glancing back at the gate and wondering what it was he had just seen.  His reverie was interrupted when, right on time, Coco started crying.

* * *

In the morning Miguel grabbed his backpack and guitar and hurried to school, but his mind was still on what had happened.

He realized what the noise was now: whistling.  As little sense as that made, it had been the sound of someone* whistling.

If it weren’t for Dante’s behavior, he would have thought it was his sleepy brain conjuring up weird dreams.

Then he reached school, and he heard the news.

 

Marisol Esposito, a classmate who Miguel was on relatively friendly terms with, wasn’t there.

And when he asked his _amigo_ Ramon Resa at lunch, the answer he got was chilling news: “Her cousins went missing last night, so she’s helping her family look for them.”

Miguel dropped his burrito.  “What?”

Marisol had two cousins, neither one over the age of nine: Guadalupe (Lupe for short), and her little brother Alejandro.  Miguel didn’t know them very well, but Marisol spent a lot of time looking after them for her _tia_ , and they were all very close.

Ramon nodded, pleased at the effect his story was having.  “Yeah, apparently they weren’t in their rooms this morning and there’s not a trace of them anywhere.”

“How do you know that?”

“Marisol and her mother came by this morning to ask if we’d seen them.  I offered to help search, but they said no.”

Miguel gave him a look.  “Because you wanted to get out of school for the day?”

He got a sheepish smile in response.  Then, after eating more of his lunch, Ramon mused, “ _Abuela_ would probably say that _El Silbón_ took them.”

Miguel froze again.  “...Who?”

 

His friend shrugged.  “It’s this story _abuela_ uses to threaten us when we don’t do what we’re told.  Basically the Venezuelan version of _El coco_.”

_El Silbón...The Whistler._

It felt like too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence.

Once school was out, instead of going straight home or to the plaza, Miguel rushed to the library, hoping a computer would be open.

* * *

Eventually he found the information he was looking for.

There were different stories about how _El Silbon_ came to be, but the general theme was the same: he murdered his father, and as a consequence his grandfather put a curse on him to wander through the rest of eternity carrying his father’s bones in a sack.  As he walked, he would whistle an eerie tune, and the farther away he sounded, the closer he actually was.

Miguel scrawled through the web page, eyes wide.

 _El Silbon_ would sometimes stand outside of houses, or, more frightening to imagine, come right into them, and tip out his sack of bones and count them as he put them back in the sack, one by one.  Unless somebody in the house was awakened by the sound before sunrise, come morning, one member of the family would be dead. And many a Venezuelan parent had told their child to behave, or _El Silbón_ would come to take them away.

The boy shivered, and crossed himself.

It was incredible to imagine, but there was no doubt in his mind that this was what had set Dante off last night, and had taken Marisol’s cousins.  After learning last year that several improbable things were real,** Miguel was by now prepared to believe in almost anything.

The only question was, what could he do now?

* * *

**He was under the misapprehension that some _thing_ could be ruled out.  You would think he would know better by now.

**The Land of the Dead, vitamins, and _Abuelita_ letting music return to the Riveras, to be precise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I told you I would explain.  
> Chilling, isn't it?  
> Coming up next, Miguel does something a little between brave and stupid...cue jarring chord!!!!!


	3. The Best Laid Plans

**Chapter Three**

The Best-Laid Plans

Or

Miguel goes into the lion’s den

* * *

“You were just trying to protect us last night, weren’t you, boy?”

Miguel reached over and scratched Dante’s ears, keeping his voice low as he added,  “Good  _ alebrije _ .”

Dante happily attempted to smother his master with his tongue.

 

The boy and his dog hurried home.

Even if he logically knew it wasn’t, Lupe and Alejandro’s disappearance felt like his fault because  _ El Silbón _ hadn’t been able to get him.

So it also felt like his responsibility to get them back if he could.

And Miguel figured, since in the legend children went missing and were never seen again, that they must have been taken to the Land of the Dead by  _ El Silbón _ or  _ El Coco _ or whatever you wanted to call it.

A plan began to form.

* * *

When Miguel got home from school, he quickly emptied his backpack, and filled it again with a flashlight, rope, a pocket knife, matches, and a few handfuls of chilies* “borrowed” from the kitchen.  He was just sneaking out of the kitchen again, when he ran right into his mother.

“What are you doing?” she asked, staring at his freshly-bulging pack.

Miguel gulped, and initiated the first phase of his plan.  “Um, last night Marisol’s cousins went missing, and they need help looking for them.”**

Luisa’s forehead wrinkled in a combination of concern for the missing children, and concern for her own child.  “I don’t know if-”

“ _ Mamá _ , please, I won’t be alone, a lot of people will be searching with me!***  Please, she’s really worried about them.”

It felt kind of wrong to be doing this, but it made his mother’s face relax, and give a tiny nod.  She said, “Try to be home before midnight,  _ comprende _ ?”

“ _ Si Mamá _ !”  And Miguel raced out the door before he could run into Elena, who would definitely ask more thorough questions.

* * *

Dante was at his heels as he ran to the cemetery, towards the plot specifically reserved for his ancestors.  The Xolo dog wasn’t trying to push or pull him one way or the other for the moment, which Miguel took as a sign that he was doing the right thing.

He arrived, out of breath, at the graves of Rivera  _ familia _ going all the way back to Mamá Imelda, and even farther; Dante happily wandered a short distance away to sniff around and roll in the dust.

It was late summer, but of course there were still mementos to the family on the graves: flowers, shoes, some sheet music for Héctor to learn to play.****  Miguel swallowed, and looked down at the memorials for a moment.

 

“I don’t know if this will work,” he said aloud.  “It’s not  _ Dia de Muertos _ , so the rules might not apply.  But it’s all I can think of. I hope none of you will be too angry with me-I’m just trying to rescue my friend Marisol’s cousins and bring them back home.  Okay?”

He didn’t wait for an answer he knew he wouldn’t get, and just knelt down to snatch up the envelope of sheet music from Imelda’s tombstone.

And then, so soft he could barely hear it, came the sound of low whistling, right behind him.

 

Miguel spun around and scrambled back on his haunches, reaching into his backpack and fumbling for the chilies as he gaped at the spectral figure standing before him.

_ El Silbón  _ was very, very tall, and very, very thin.

He was dressed in a white, tattered suit, complete with a wide sombrero shielding his face, and carried an enormous sack over one shoulder.  And he was reaching towards Miguel with a long, bony hand.

Miguel quickly thrust the chilies at him.  “ _ Vete _ ,  _ El Silbón _ !”

The ghost faltered, and tilted his head curiously.

Slowly Miguel got to his feet, still brandishing the chilies at his attacker, and pulled his backpack back on.  He couldn’t see the face, but the form looked oddly familiar, a little like-

The hand closed around his shoulder, while  _ El Silbón _ ’s free hand swung the sack down and opened the mouth of it.

 

“What?!  No!”

Miguel pushed the chilies at him again, only for the ghost to swat them away.  Just in time for a howling, snarling Xolo dog to cannon into him.

By all rights,  _ El Silbón _ should have flown apart, bones scattering in all directions like Julio and Héctor had done, since he was made of bones just like them.

Instead, he was knocked off his feet, and just began struggling with the dog, trying to shove him off.

Miguel gave him a few hard kicks to the ribs***** and then snatched up the envelope from the grave.

“Please get me cursed please get me cursed please get me cursed!”

It was certainly not a sentence he had ever imagined himself using.

Without waiting to see if it had worked, Miguel stuffed the music into his jeans pocket and began looking around for the  _ cémpazuchitl _ bridge.

And then the cold fingers closed around the back of his neck, lifting him like he weighed no more than a kitten.

 

Dante, who had been flung away to smack into a tombstone, rushed back towards them, clamping his jaws around one of Miguel’s sleeves and pulling, as his feet and legs began disappearing into the thick sack despite all his fighting and kicking and twisting.

“Dante!” Miguel cried as his waist began sinking inside-it was like the sack was bottomless or something, “Get help!  Go find my family!”

There was a tearing sound, and part of his sleeve came loose in his dog’s teeth-and then the top of the sack closed over his head.

* * *

*His research had mentioned that  _ El Silbón _ could be warded off by whips, dogs and chilies.  He didn’t have easy access to a whip, but he figured two out of three wasn’t bad.

**Which was not technically a lie.  The implication that they had asked him to help, however, _was_ technically a lie.

***Another technical not-lie.

****This had been left on Imelda’s grave, since he didn’t have one at the cemetery, and the town was still working on creating a marker for him.  To be honest, his body had probably been laid to rest in an unmarked grave or something, somewhere far away from Santa Cecilia. Sad, really.

*****Hey, any contribution he could make seemed like it would be welcome.

* * *

***Another jarring chord***

**I hope the fight scene is satisfactory; I don't always feel like I do the best job writing them.  Regardless, I hope this was enjoyable.**

 


	4. Catching Up with the Familia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify, this takes place before the second Dia de Muertos, in the summertime.

**Chapter Four**

Catching Up with the  _ Familia _

Or

Miguelito fell down the well (in a manner of speaking)

* * *

There were many things in life and death that Imelda Rivera did not like to do.

This included working with substandard shoe making material, dealing with modern technology (especially the “devil box”), and housework-she would do the latter because it needed to be done, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed it.

At the top of the list of things she did not like to do, however, was admitting that she was wrong.

But ever since Dia de los Muertos she had been forced to admit, especially to herself, that for the longest time she had been  _ unbelievably _ wrong, about Héctor.

 

Her grudge against him, with assumptions that he had abandoned her and her daughter for music, had lost its foundation.  And then she’d had to watch him nearly fade away into nothingness right in front of her. Both events working together had put a lot of things into perspective for her, and she had decided firmly that she was not going to lose him ever again.  Simple as that.

Of course, there were still decades of anger and hurt that she was still nurturing towards him, and they had to get to know each other all over again, but they were working on it.

A big step in the right direction had been for them to start talking to each other again,* and for Héctor to officially move into the Rivera household.

 

Imelda had noticed some regrettable changes in the love of her life within weeks.

For instance, her husband was more secretive, more, dare I say it, sneaky, a habit he’d picked up from dodging security and doing virtually whatever he could to obtain things in his mad struggle to cross that dumb flower bridge every year.

And around the family, Imelda especially, Héctor was more nervous, less willing to tease her than he had been in life.

As a matter of fact, he was walking on eggshells around her, and would visibly flinch at the first sign of displeasure in her face or voice.

She was able to discern the reasons for this soon enough: clearly he was afraid-terrified-that if he said or did the wrong thing, she would send him away again.

It was a heartbreaking thing to realize, but it made a sad kind of sense.

So she began doing little things to try to reassure him that that wasn’t going to happen-being the first to apologize after their first real argument, despite all the efforts he had made to avoid it; asking him what kind of decorations he wanted in his room** to imply that he would be staying there for a while; holding his hand in the evenings while they were in the sitting room or walking outside; trying to teach him how to make shoes with the family.***

Trying in hundreds of small ways to convey the message that  _ It’s okay, you are safe, you won’t be rejected again, you’re with your  _ familia _ now, we want you back, you belong with us-and with me. _

And she was rewarded with less nervous smiles, with (still somewhat hesitant) songs, including some of the ones he’d used back in the day to win her heart, with long talks that would last far into the night.

 

Like a frog in a boiling pot of water, the rest of the family slowly got used to Héctor’s presence too.

By the time Coco arrived, Julio had stopped looking surprised every time he ran into his father-in-law on the stairs; Rosita was doing her best to make up for all the years he’d gone without dinner****; he and the twins started having playful prank wars again, just like they had when they were alive.

For the Rivera family, the afterlife had never been better.

* * *

Héctor cheerfully made his way back home through the Land of the Dead, pulling a wagon containing the week’s shipment of leather and shoestrings that he’d picked up and whistling a little as he walked.

He thought it was going to be just another normal day in the afterlife; he would bring everything to the shop, and then play his guitar for his family while they made more shoes and he planned out his revenge against Oscar and Felipe for stealing his hat and hiding it in Victoria’s bureau the night before, and then he would spend more time hearing all about his daughter’s life before dinner.  He tried not to be sad when she told him her stories; she’d been happy, and even if he’d missed out on so many important things, what mattered was that they were together now.

 

All those plans, however, were nipped in the bud when a loud, garbled howling permeated the air.

 

“GROOAYUGGHHOOOOWWOO!”

Héctor nearly fell to pieces with alarm at the noise; as it was, he jumped and stumbled over his own feet before he landed against the side of the wagon, hand pressed against his sternum, which heaved up and down a few times.*****

Then he saw what was still causing the sound.  Namely, a large rainbow-colored missile crashing to a graceless landing right in front of him.

It took Héctor a second to recognize him, and a slightly longer second to remember his name, but he finally managed to splutter out, “Dante?!”

The alebrije sat up, shook himself and tried to bark again, but he had apparently forgotten about the item clenched in his teeth.  Héctor took it from his jaws and squinted at it.

 

If he’d had blood, and veins for it to run through, it would have run cold.

Instead he ran, back to the house, with Dante right behind him, abandoning the wagon.

* * *

Héctor burst into the workshop, nearly knocking the door off its hinges.

“Imelda!”

Everyone was understandably startled by the dramatic entrance; before she recognized her grandfather, Victoria even started to pull her shoe off in preparation for possible warfare.

Imelda jumped up with a start, eyes wide.

“What is it?!”

Héctor, by way of response, thrust forward the scrap of red cloth he’d taken from Dante.  A very familiar cloth that looked like part of a sleeve from a familiar hooded sweatshirt.  He didn’t have to say it, but- “Miguel’s in trouble.”

 

Despite the collective shock they were feeling, the Rivera family wasted no time in laying aside their tools and materials and rushing out into the courtyard.

“Search everywhere!” Imelda ordered, before whistling for Pepita.  “We’re going to fly ahead!” To herself she muttered, “What’s that fool boy done now?!”

The big alebrije thudded to the ground, and Héctor, not nearly as nervous as Julio around her but still apprehensive, held out the cloth for her to sniff.  Then, to his surprise, Imelda grabbed him by the vest and tugged him after her onto Pepita’s back.

“Wha-?!”

“Who did you think I meant by ‘we’?”

“...You and Pepita.”

Imelda didn’t bother looking back at him; she just dug her fingers into the cat’s fur, as she began to take flight.

Héctor let out an alarmed yell, floundering, and grabbed onto the first thing he could-which happened to be Imelda’s waist.

 

It was hardly the time to be concerned about it, but he shot her an anxious glance, ready to release her if she gave any indication of this action being unacceptable.

Imelda, however, either didn’t notice or didn’t care, so he just wound his arms more tightly, and began looking down at the ground for a sign of his  _ chamaco _ .

* * *

*Technically, after her death there had been some talking between them, but it had mostly consisted of brief moments of Imelda shouting at Héctor and Héctor letting the abuse and rejection pour over him with no small amount of hurt and bewilderment, barely allowed to get a word in edgewise.  But now Imelda tried to be the one to listen, and let Héctor talk if he wanted to.

 

**They were slowly working their way back to being comfortable enough to share a room again.

 

***And, after his third attempt somehow caught fire, putting him to work instead running errands for the rest of them, and playing music for them while they worked.

 

****“But Rosita, I’m literally just bones, I don’t need to be fattened up-”

“You haven’t eaten well in ninety years-have more fajitas!”

 

*****Skeletons don’t need air, but breathing is a difficult habit to break.


	5. First Impressions are Important

**Chapter Five**

First Impressions are Important

Or

Miguel is caught in a trap and he can’t walk out

* * *

Miguel wasn’t sure exactly what happened next.

One moment, he was in the bag, which smelled like something had died in it.*

The next, his eyes were flying open to find that he was lying on his back, on a rough, uneven surface that was definitely not a bag.

 

Everything was filtered through an eerie blue light, like it is just around sunset or very early morning.  As the boy tried to process what had happened, he saw that there were walls of some kind on either side of him, about ten feet apart, which seemed to stretch far into the distance.

He pulled himself up and looked around, blinking to adjust his eyes to the new light conditions.  And immediately he kind of wished he hadn’t.

 

The walls were probably twenty feet high, and definitely made out of bones.

Bones that criss-crossed each other like the world’s biggest Jenga set, piled in layer upon layer, the ones at the bottom in various shades of yellow, but becoming cleaner and whiter the higher up they went.

Very small bones, mostly.

Despite himself, Miguel gagged, and had to clamp his hand over his mouth for a moment.  It was one thing seeing fully intact skeletons that were walking and talking, and still had a basic soul inside them-this, on the other hand…

He shuddered at the implications.

 

Managing to swallow the bile in his throat, Miguel got up on shaking legs, looking first down the way he was facing-no obvious exit route that way, as best he could see in the gloom.

He turned to get his flashlight out of his backpack-

And nearly got his head taken off by a blunt object swinging towards it.

 

Just in time Miguel stumbled back, yelling out a few words his cousin Abel would have emphatically denied letting him hear.  The sound of his voice seemed to bring his assailant up short, and the weapon fumbled out of their hands, landing with a clatter on the ground, which he saw was also covered in bones.

Quickly Miguel snatched it up, realizing (with no nausea this time) that it was a somewhat large femur bone.

“Give that back!”  The attacker charged at him, grabbing his wrist and trying to snatch the femur away.

“Why, so you can try to kill me again?!”  Miguel wrestled free, realizing as he did so that a) his attacker was a girl, and b) unless she was wearing really disturbing gloves, she was alive, since he could feel the skin of her hands.

Oh, and he realized very soon afterwards that c) she wasn’t alone, as another figure slammed into his side, knocking him down again.

 

Miguel kicked out as best he could, landing a very satisfying blow to the girl’s shin, and shoving her companion off before scrambling to the nearest wall.  Then he yanked his flashlight out of his bag and snapped it on, getting a good look at his attackers as they stopped, dazzled by the light.

They were a boy and girl, both a few years younger than him, in pajamas and bare feet.  The girl’s hair had been in two neat braids once upon a time, but now strands were sticking out in every direction, and one of them was even partly unraveled.  The boy looked younger than her, and Miguel noticed that his right wrist was wrapped in a cast. Both of them were covered in bruises, scratches, dirt, and low-key levels of fear.

“Lupe?  Alejandro?”

The girl’s eyes widened, and then narrowed.  “How do you know our names?”

“I go to school with your cousin Marisol!” Miguel hurried to explain setting down the femur and holding his hands up in as non threatening a gesture as possible.  “My name’s Miguel!”

Her eyes widened again, this time with recognition.  “You’re that weird kid who went missing on Dia de Muertos!”

Miguel felt a flicker of annoyance.  “You could say that…” Quickly he changed the subject.  “I’m here to rescue you.”

Lupe folded her skinny arms and gave him an unimpressed stare.  “Great start.”

The flicker became an open flame.  “It’s not my fault you decided to attack me.”

“We thought you were the  _ coco _ ,” said Alejandro.

 

“...You mean _El_ _Silbón_?”

“Oh, is that what you call him?”  Lupe snorted. “I didn’t know you were on a first-name basis.”

Miguel wondered what it was with all the girls he knew besides Mamá Coco** and being such harridans.***  Instead of rising to her bait, he turned away and started examining one of the walls of bones.

“What are you doing?” Lupe demanded.

“Looking for a good place to start climbing, so I can figure out where we are.”  If he could see what part of the Land of the Dead they were in, he could find the way to his family, and they could help find these kids’ family so they could all go home.  Hopefully it was close to somewhere he’d been last time he was here, or he could find someone who knew who the Riveras were.

_ Stop worrying; Dante’s probably found them by now, so they’ll all be looking for me.  Everything will be fine _ .

 

“We thought about doing that earlier, but I got this-” Alejandro held up his cast-enfolded wrist- “and Lupe’s afraid of heights.”

Lupe kicked him in the shin.  “Shut up!”

Miguel ignored the ensuing scuffle in favor of sticking the flashlight between his teeth, and then beginning his ascent of the wall of bones.

 

The climb wasn’t too bad; even though he was a little squeamish about having to touch some of the bones, he decided that he preferred it to having to stay in this place any longer than he had to.  And at least they provided a lot of relatively sturdy hand- and footholds.

“What do you mean, figure out where we are?” Lupe suddenly called up from where she was standing below.  “I doubt we’re still in Santa Cecilia!”

Miguel rolled his eyes slightly, and took the flashlight out of his mouth.

“I know that.”  He replaced it and resumed climbing-only a few feet now...

“Then how can you possibly know where-”

“Look, just keep your shirt on, okay?  My family is going to be looking for me, they can-”

The words froze in his throat as he pulled himself to the top of the wall.

 

Ahead of them, there was a wide expanse of...nothing.

He couldn’t even see a horizon anywhere, or any distinction between sky and ground.  Just an endless blend of black and blue light, kind of like a giant bruise.

Miguel perched himself on the wall, and looked around a little frantically.

Everywhere he looked, there was that all-encompassing blend of shadows.  As for where they were now...from here he could see that it was a giant maze, made all of bones, which seemed to be the only solid, substantial thing here.

Wherever they were, it was definitely not Santa Cecilia...but he realized that it wasn’t the Land of the Dead either.

* * *

*Not overly reassuring, that.

**And his own mother, of course.

***He’d heard the word in one of de la Cruz’s movies, and while he wouldn’t dare use it around any of his female relations he couldn’t help occasionally thinking it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the plot thickens...


	6. Three Little Alebrijes

**Chapter Six**

Three Little Alebrijes

Or

Seven heads are better than four

* * *

Miguel wasn’t in the Land of the Dead.

His great-great-grandparents had searched everywhere he could possibly be-even the crumbling remains of Ernesto’s mansion, even the obscure parts of Shantytown that he hadn’t been anywhere near the last time he came.

Despite her best efforts, Pepita couldn’t find so much as a trace of him.

 

“At least he’s probably not dead,” Héctor mused, as the frustrated alebrije circled over the slums again.

Imelda gave him a bit of a sharp look over her shoulder.

“...Pepita could find him if he was dead, couldn’t she?”

The explanation seemed to satisfy her, and she turned back again.

_ Unless-no, no, that’s silly, he has plenty of loving family and friends still alive who remember him, there’s no way he could have been forgotten in less than a year. _

_ But then where  _ is _ he?! _

 

Finally they circled down to a street corner, if Shantytown could be said to have street corners.*  They had barely come to a landing before Imelda jumped off Pepita’s back and began to pace up and down the dock with frustration.  Héctor quietly slid down the alebrije’s other side, out of view, in case she felt the need to take her anger out on someone; Dante, who had accompanied them, scrambled around next to him with what appeared to be the same thought process.  After about three minutes Imelda was just opening her mouth to speak, probably to put a new plan into action, when she was interrupted by a noise.

Specifically, a chorus of high-pitched yapping, and the thud of approaching tiny paws.

 

Dante’s ears perked up, and he whined curiously.

And then he uttered a surprised bark as three small, green figures came tumbling to a halt before them and started jumping excitedly around Dante, still yapping all at once.  He whined and barked a few times inquiringly, which they responded to with more tiny yips.

Imelda whirled towards the intruders, demanding, “Now what?!  This is not the time for you to be socializing, dog!”

Dante, however, became just as excited as the chihuahuas, who were now scurrying the way they had come.  Without further ado the bigger dog alebrije seized Héctor’s arm in his jaws, tugging him after his new friends so vigorously that it was all the  _ guitarrista _ could do to keep himself together.

Imelda uttered a soft curse, and she and Pepita ran after them.

 

At first Héctor was almost as indignant as his wife, and tried to pull free, or at least order Dante to release him.  Dante, however, just growled and pulled him more stubbornly, until the motley crew tumbled to a stop at the steps leading back up to the more prosperous parts of the Land of the Dead.

Imelda and her alebrije thundered to a halt behind them, a menacing boot already clutched in the Rivera matriarch’s hand to eke out swift, painful justice on those who she felt were wasting her time.

Before she could, however, the chihuahuas bunched together to let out a collective exhale against the steps, revealing a trail of blue glowing boot prints.  Boot prints with an elaborate cross shape cut into the heel.

Héctor froze, and slowly pulled his arm out of the now-compliant Dante’s jaws.  Then he used it to scratch the dog’s ears.

“Good boy.”

 

Imelda slowly put her shoe back on, realizing the same thing her husband had.  There was only one person she knew of who would be pretentious enough to make his own designs on the bottoms of his shoes.  And her fists clenched as she reminded herself of the promise she had made to Héctor if Ernesto de la Cruz ever came near any of her family again.**

It was a bit of a big conclusion to draw, but Miguel was missing,*** there was only one person they knew of likely to be involved, and they were looking at his trail right now.  She turned to the alebrijes, who were watching them expectantly.

“ _ Vamos _ .”

* * *

*Or streets, really.

**See  _ Worries and Promises _ .

***And since Dante had come to them, they were probably the ones who could save him, not his living relatives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boots are my own idea; since de la Cruz means "of the cross," and Ernesto is kind of the epitome of narcissism, it just seemed appropriate.


	7. Silbon-be-gone

**Chapter Seven**

_ Silbón _ -be-gone

Or

Miguel and co. try Plan B

* * *

Shakily, Miguel sat himself down on top of the wall of bones, for the first time having a nasty, uncomfortable spike of mind-numbing terror rippling down his spine.

Oh, he’d been afraid ever since he’d seen  _ El Silbón _ lurking outside his house, and even moreso when he’d been captured by him, but he’d been confident that his family would find out where he was and be able to rescue him, no problem.

It was quite another matter to realize that he wasn’t even in the same world as his family, and while he knew that they would move heaven and earth for him,* the question still rose in his brain,  _ What if they can’t come here?  What if they can’t figure out where I am? _

It wasn’t quite the bleak despair he’d felt in the sinkhole, or when he’d lost the photo, but it had the potential to be if he let it stay for long enough.

 

Lupe’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“What can you see?  Hey! Are you deaf?!”

Miguel blinked, and looked down at her and her brother.

“Sorry, I-this isn’t where I thought it was.”

He braced himself for whatever acerbic comment she was about to make-but instead, she bit her lip and looked down at the ground for a second.

_ She’s scared too. _

Miguel changed the subject, sort of.  “Have you guys found any exits out of here?  Or the center of the maze? Maybe one of those leads to the way home.”

“That’s what we were looking for when we found you,” Alejandro said.

The older boy nodded, and then pulled himself up, turning the flashlight beam out over the wall.

“What are you doing?” Lupe demanded.

“I can guide us from up here.”  Miguel began picking his way over the criss-crossing bones.  “Do we want to try getting to the center?”

After a moment of quiet conference between the two siblings, Lupe finally hefted the femur and admitted, “It’s as good a plan as any.”

* * *

For a while they moved in relative silence.  Miguel would tell the other two when they needed to turn a certain way, following on the wall as best he could, but other than that they didn’t talk.

And then Alejandro asked, “So where did you go?  On Dia de Muertos.”

Miguel glanced down at him and shrugged.

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

The children gave him looks that basically said, “We’ve been captured by a bogeyman and trapped in another world-we’d probably believe you if you told us that the sky is made out of green chalupas.”**

“Okay, okay,” Miguel smiled sheepishly.  “I...kind of got stuck in the Land of the Dead.”

Lupe’s eyes widened.  “That’s what you were talking about when you said you had family here.  You thought we were…”

“ _ Si _ .  I got to meet a few of my ancestors, and even Frida Kahlo.”

“...Who’s Frida Kahlo?” Alejandro asked.

“That artist Mamá likes,” his sister reminded him chidingly.

“Oh, her.”

“And that’s why Marisol says you’ve been so obsessed with your family’s history.”

“I am not obsessed,” said Miguel in annoyance.  “I just want to tell their stories.”

“Whatever.”

 

Miguel chose not to dignify that with a response, so they lapsed back into silence.

But the quiet reminded them that they were in a dark, scary place that was covered in bones, and that as they walked their feet cracked and crunched (Miguel moreso than the others because he was actually wearing shoes), creating eerie echoes everywhere.

The flashlight beam was still good and strong, but he found himself wishing he’d brought extra batteries, just in case.  With a small gulp, he cleared his throat, and without really thinking about it he began to sing softly.

 

_ Remember me _

_ Though I have to say goodbye _

_ Remember me _

_ Don’t let it make you cry- _

 

“Are you crazy?” Lupe hissed at him.  “Be quiet! The  _ coco _ might hear you!”

While it was a very good point, Miguel found himself arguing, “He probably already knows where we are!  What have we got to lose?”

He almost added that it distracted him from the lurking fear in his heart to sing his great-great-grandpa’s song, but he didn’t want her making fun of him for being the oldest one in the group and still needing to comfort himself.

“I’ve never heard it sung like that,” Alejandro piped up.  “It’s slower than the de la Cruz version. I like it.”

Miguel growled at the mention of his old idol.  But he went back to singing, partly to spite Lupe and partly because it really was making him feel better.

 

_ For even though I’m far away _

_ I hold you in my heart _

_ I sing a secret song to you _

_ Each night we are apart… _

 

None of them saw the white figure that had been creeping up behind them suddenly vanish.

* * *

_ He rematerialized in a far corner of the maze, gasping despite no longer requiring air and clutching his hands to the sides of his head. _

_ Hearing his prey making those sounds had woken something inside him that he did not recognize or understand, but that made his skull pound and throb with...not a memory, no, more a memory of a memory, driving him away from the tiny group. _

_ Indistinct flashes, of that-that thing his prey had just done, sharp and painful, were cutting through his head, he almost knew what it was, it was on the tip of his tongue if he’d still had one- _

_ A...song, that was what it was called, he knew that, music, yes, it made something happen when he heard it, like lightning between his eyes.  He knew it. He didn’t know how he knew, but it had been important to him once upon a time- _

_ El Silbón’s eyes glared beneath his sombrero, he didn’t know what had just happened but his chest burned with desire to start the hunt again and this time he would feast, no matter what. _

_ His left hand throbbed, but he ignored it and hoisted the sack again.  Shakily he straightened, and began his slow walk after the children. _

* * *

*Rather a poor choice of metaphor, considering its previous context in his family’s experience.

**Though with less eloquence of speech; these were young children, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shiver...  
> My next update is probably going to be late, just to warn you, because I'll be traveling with my family for Christmas.  
> Speak of the devil, Feliz Navidad, Joyeux Noel, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, and Merry Christmas to you all.


	8. Bitter Truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided this couldn’t wait, and to make it my early Christmas present to you all. Or whatever holiday you might celebrate at this time.

 

**Chapter Eight**

Bitter Truths 

Or

Imelda loses her temper

* * *

The bizarre group-two skeletons, one giant cat, one medium sized Xolo dog and three little chihuahuas-hurried their way through Shantytown, following the glowing trail.  From the shadows of alleyways and the doorways of shacks, curious and occasionally hostile eyes watched them, but any thoughts about approaching the travelers were nipped in the bud by the sight of Pepita.*

 

When the little dogs slowed down, they were in an area which was basically the slums of the slums.

Stretching out before them was the pitiless black chasm which the flower bridges bloomed over, the ground becoming soft and treacherously crumbly the closer you got to it.  Almost nothing was out here, in what was the closest thing the Land of the Dead had to a desert.

Nothing except a crooked heap of wood which could only be called a house in the loosest sense of the word, perched precariously close to the chasm.

 

When he saw it, Héctor froze in his tracks.

“I know who lives here.”

Imelda gave him a quizzical look.  “Who?”

“Well,” said a voice from behind them, “if I had any friends they would probably call me Lorena.”

If the Riveras had still had skin, they might have jumped right out of it.  As it was, Héctor let out a most undignified screech as he whirled around on one leg, and Dante came rushing to his side** to potentially protect him from the stranger.

 

The woman gave them a look of mild innocence and fiddled with her poncho.

“I mean, I do have Quixote,” gesturing to the alebrije draped over her shoulders, “but he doesn’t really call me anything, he just hoots and squawks at me.”

Dante flapped forward and barked defiantly at Quixote, who slowly spun his head all the way around his neck until he was facing the dog, and uttered a high squawk that sent him racing back to behind Imelda.

“Mostly everyone just calls me that crazy  _ bruja  _ who lives in the desert.  But honestly, I like it out here.  You might say I’m...living on the edge.”  She smiled expectantly.

When neither of the visitors laughed, she sighed and looked at Quixote.  “You know, I think I need to get some new jokes.”

The owl-dragon thing actually appeared to roll his golden eyes.

 

Then the  _ bruja _ , or Lorena, I guess, gave a graceful smile.

“Héctor, long time no see.  You’re looking better.”

Imelda would have raised an eyebrow if she still had one, but there was a definite raised-eyebrowishness in her voice when she asked, “You know each other?”

“Not very well,” said Héctor quickly.

“I should be so lucky.”  Lorena threw her hair back over her shoulders and gave him a look that actually seemed a little wistful.  “He showed up at  _ mi casa _ a few decades ago, back when his family was still shunning and neglecting him and casting him aside like-” she smirked a tiny bit- “an old shoe, for something that wasn’t even his fault, asking for help.”

She knew she was being baited, but Imelda still clenched her fists.

“He wanted a chance to return to the Land of the Living and see his beloved daughter again, before she forgot him and he was lost forever.”  The  _ bruja  _ waltzed towards them, her patchwork skirt swishing around her legs.  “I told him I could do him one better, and arrange it so he could stay there as long as he wanted.  But,” she drew her mouth into a tiny pout, “he decided that he couldn’t handle the price.”

“Because it would have turned me into a monster!” Héctor burst out.  “It wasn’t worth it!”

Lorena let out a sound between a snort and a laugh.  “If I had come to you last Dia de Muertos and made my offer again, you probably wouldn’t have been so picky.”

Disturbingly, Héctor’s gaze dropped to the ground and he twisted his fingers in a nervous gesture.

Then every bone in his skeleton tensed up as she said, “Your friend was far more desperate.”

 

“...What?” Héctor whispered.

“De la Cruz.  He used to be your  _ amigo _ once upon a time, no?  He said he would do whatever it took for his petty disproportionate revenge scheme.”  Lorena seemed completely oblivious to the effect her words were having on the Riveras; instead she unwrapped her alebrije from her shoulders and sent him flying off to the shack.

Finally Héctor found his voice again.  “You-you turned Ernesto into a... _ coco _ ?”

“In a manner of speaking.  He’s a special type whose main purpose is to target adulterers and murderers, both of which he has been in life.  So it seems kind of karmic for him, and he doesn’t have much memory left, so he won’t bother you anymore-”

“Except that he’s stolen our grandson!” Héctor exploded.

When she heard that, for the first time the  _ bruja  _ lost her smug expression, and her forehead developed a perturbed crease.

“Ah.  That is a bit of a problem.  I guess I didn’t think this all the way through-ay!  Ay! Ah, not the face! Ay! Ow! I guess I kind of deserve this, but ow!”

 

Eventually Imelda’s arm got tired.  She snapped her boot back on, and then snatched Lorena up by the front of her poncho, holding her out until her feet were dangling over the edge of the chasm.

“You.  Will.  _ Fix _ .  This.”

Six pairs of eyes, at varying heights, glared in unison with hers.  The  _ bruja  _ finally gave them a large, sheepish grin, her hands keeping a firm grip around Imelda’s wrist, and laughed weakly.

“Eheheh...let me see what I can do.”

* * *

 

*Possibly not even Chakal himself would have been eager to tangle with her.

**He had been up ahead with their guides, possibly trading information and smells on the way.


	9. Daggers of the Mind

**Sorry this is late; I was distracted by other issues, including the frustration of trying to apply for grad school and season three of** **_A Series of Unfortunate Events_ ** **(my final verdict is Neil Patrick Harris: 3; Jim Carrey: 0).**

**I was also a little stuck about how I wanted to write this part, but I finally forced myself to just sit down and work on it. Hope this makes up for how long I've been gone.**

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

Daggers of the Mind

Or

The middle was the wrong way to go

* * *

The group of children were close to the center of the maze now.  Miguel sang a few more songs as they walked-softly, just in case.  Not just the ones that belonged to Héctor, though they were certainly his favorites-he included a few others from movies he liked, and even a few snatches of verse he’d been writing himself.  Hearing the music, even without his guitar, made him feel better. And whether she admitted it or not, he could tell Lupe was enjoying it too.

 

“We just need to go around this corner,” Miguel dictated, “and it’s right there.”

He could see a pale blue glow in the center of the maze, pulsing gently, almost beckoning.

Since they were almost there, he began climbing down from the wall so he could walk with the other kids.

“ _Mamá_ is gonna be so mad at us,” Alejandro lamented.  “What do we tell her?”

Lupe let out a slow exhale.  “Just say that we...went exploring in the desert and got lost.”

“In the middle of the night?”  Alejandro snorted. “She’s really gonna believe that.”

“She’s more likely to believe that than believe you were kidnapped by a legendary monster and trapped in a netherworld or whatever this is,” Miguel pointed out.

The younger boy was forced to nod with a grimace.  “I almost wish we could tell her, though. It might stop her and Tia Dolores and Marisol from beating us to death with their shoes.”

Miguel snorted with laughter.  “She sounds like my _abuelita_.  Anytime I put so much as a toe in the plaza, she used to-”

His voice cut off in a squeak as they rounded the corner-in fact, the boy screeched to a halt altogether, his expression twisting with shock and horror.

Lupe and Alejandro were taken aback by what they saw too, but neither of them understood when Miguel’s eyes actually started to fill with tears.  After all, it was just a skeleton.

 

Specifically, an adult male skeleton in ragged clothes, lying sprawled on its back on the ground before them; its bones were glowing golden, and covered in _calavera_ markings that they were used to seeing during Dia de Muertos.  Nothing about it seemed horrifying enough to actually make Miguel _cry_.

And then its eyes opened-holy crap, the skeleton somehow had eyelids-and stared straight at Miguel.

Lupe let out an involuntary yelp, pulling her brother behind her protectively.  But the skeleton didn’t even look at them; instead he spoke: “Why didn’t you take my photo home when you had the chance?”

* * *

It would have been better if he had shouted, been angry.  Instead his voice was sad, and reproachful, and hurt-and it cut Miguel straight to the heart.

“I-” he started, swallowed, tried again, “I-I wanted-”

“Now I will never see my daughter again.  That’s all I wanted, before she forgot me forever.”  Héctor’s eyes closed again with a melancholy sigh, and he started dissolving into a pile of ashes.

“No!  No, I helped her remember you!  You’re not-” Miguel lurched towards the disintegrating image, scrabbling futilely at it before it vanished, leaving only the remains of Héctor’s clothes and hat, just like with Chicharrón.

_I know that didn’t really happen, I can-I can feel that he’s okay.  It doesn’t even make sense for him to be here, he wouldn’t just hang around here being forgotten, he’d have vanished already, there’s no reason for him to be here._

But a small voice of doubt lurked in the back of his mind, asking if he really had managed to get to Mamá Coco in time.  And whether it was real or not, the possibility of him failing his great-great-grandpa and being resented for it still stung like nothing else.

 

He knelt for a moment, clutching the beat-up straw hat to his chest, forgetting temporarily about his companions.

Then, finally, he opened his eyes and turned, feeling that he’d have to give some kind of explanation.

What he saw, however, made him forget about offering explanations for now.

Namely, the fact that his companions were being menaced by a big man in a business suit.

From what Miguel could see of him from the back, he was built like a luchador, with broad shoulders, a thick neck, and huge, meaty-looking hands.  And he was speaking in a deceptively soft, mild voice.

“Aren’t you going to say hello to your papá, _mijos_?”

Lupe stayed in front of her brother, her expression resolute despite the way her pulse was pounding in her neck, visible even in the bad lighting.  “ _Hola,_ Papá.”

Alejandro just shrank back behind his sister and clenched his trembling hands into fists, despite the cast.

“Why did you leave me, Lupe?” the man asked, folding his arms and tapping his fingers meaningfully.

“Mamá said we needed to-”

“I told you a hundred times, I love you all too much to let you leave me.”  One of his hands stretched out and caught a few strands of Lupe’s hair, pushing them back behind her ear.  Miguel didn’t fully understand why, but something about the gesture made him distinctly uncomfortable. Lupe, too-she openly shuddered, and took another step back, looking like she wanted to burrow right into the wall.

“We’re sorry, _papá_.  We didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Alejandro looked like he wanted to argue the point, but the apparition spoke again before he could.

“Then you’re going to come back with me now, aren’t you?  Show me how sorry you are.” And his hand reached out to wrap around her arm-

But Lupe pulled away, hefting her femur and swinging it at his stomach.  “No!”

The second she made contact, he was gone like he’d never been there.  So were the remains of Héctor’s clothes.

* * *

Miguel stood up, jaw flapping for a moment, before he took a good look at the siblings’ faces and decided now was probably not a good time to ask what all that had been about.

This point of view was confirmed even more when their ears were suddenly assailed by the sound of whistling.


	10. Dem Bones, Dem Bones

**Chapter Ten**

Dem Bones, Dem Bones

Or

Imelda and Héctor have to take the Low Road

* * *

“Did Ernesto know that this would happen to him, when he accepted your deal?” Héctor demanded as the _bruja_ led them into her cottage* and picked up her grimoire from where it was still lying on the table.

“He didn’t ask,” she said dismissively, “and even if he had, I doubt it would have made a difference to him.”

Héctor shot her a look of pure disbelief.  She stared back at him and retorted, “Any man who’s more than happy to throw a twelve-year-old boy off a building hardly seems likely to balk at being turned into a child-eating monster.”

Héctor felt that there was a small flaw in this argument,** and he was about to try to point it out when Imelda asked in horror, “ _El Silbón_ eats children?!”

“Well, sort of.  He eats their lifeforce.  Sucks it out of them, usually over a week at most, leaves nothing but a pile of bones and dust.  Which is why you don’t have time to waste beating me with your shoe again, and you need to let me concentrate on figuring out what needs to be done so you can rescue him.”

Imelda slowly lowered her foot and glowered at the _bruja_ , who pretended not to notice and continued reading.

 

In the background, Dante and the chihuahuas were sniffing around, peering into corners and probably looking for something to chew on.  Dante found the only other room in the shack, whose entryway was covered by a shabby blanket, and tried to peer around it, but out of the blue Quixote was in his face, screeching and making his feathers flare around him.

The big dog practically did a somersault trying to get away from the owl-dragon’s sharp beak-but then, tongue lolling in a playful grin, he lowered his front half to the floor, waggling his tail and wings in the air.

Quixote drew himself up with a haughty glare, as if to say, “How dare you ask me to stoop to your level, you drooling mutt?”

He didn’t see the other three alebrijes about to ambush him until it was too late, and soon all five of them were wrestling each other across the floor, thudding against a wall in a heap of multicolored fur, skin and feathers.  Quixote tried for one more second of indignation...but gave it up and playfully nipped at Dante’s ear.

The skeletons weren’t paying attention; otherwise they would have seen that it was a perfect Kodak moment.***

* * *

Eventually Lorena looked up.

“You’re going to need this if you want to stop de la Cruz once and for all.”

She began digging through her braids, until she finally produced one that was tied at the bottom with what at first looked like a white stick, but which, as she freed it and held it out, was revealed to be a piece of bone.

Specifically, a finger bone.

Héctor pulled back in disgust.  “Why do we need that exactly?”

“It’s all that’s left of Ernesto’s humanity.  His soul is so devoured by the anger and hatred he’s been feeling towards you and the boy-” she indicated Héctor- “that there was no room for anything else, except in his finger.”

“And you were wearing it in your hair?!”

“...I really like to accessorize.”  With a little shrug, she went back to reading, twirling the bone between her fingers.

 

Even if this was hardly the time for it, Imelda gave Héctor a skeptical look.  “You went to _this_ woman for help crossing the bridge?”

“I didn’t have many options left!” Héctor argued.

He realized too late that his words might as well have been a slap.  Imelda flinched, and looked down at the dirty floorboards.

“N-no, I didn’t mean it like that,” he hastily tried to amend.  “I wasn’t trying to blame you.”

“I know, but I deserved it.”

“No you-”

“ _Si_ , I did.  I should have tried harder to find out what happened to you, and not just-assumed.”

“I didn’t stay like you wanted me to.  And then I didn’t see the signs of what he was planning.”

Imelda sighed, and laced her fingers through his.  “We’re probably going to be arguing about this for the rest of eternity.”

Héctor offered a shy smile.  “Probably.”

For a moment, they met each other’s eyes, until a**** cough sounded from in front of them.

“As touching as this is,” said Lorena, “you’re going to want to focus.  When you find them, you need to take this-” she held up the bone- “and stick it back on de la Cruz’s hand.  It’ll return his memories to him, and break his curse. He won’t be _El Silbón_ anymore.”

Imelda nodded, and took it from her, tucking it into her apron pocket and sealing the flap so it wouldn’t fall out.  The apron was made from very good quality material, but just in case she double checked to make sure there were no holes or loose seams the bone could fall out of.  There weren’t.

 

“The original _El Silbón_ ,” Lorena lectured as they left the cottage, the assorted alebrijes at their heels, “was repelled by things associated with his death: dogs, whips and chilies.  These things won’t work on de la Cruz because for him, you need whatever was involved with his own death.”

Héctor’s eyes widened in epiphany.  “I know what could work.”

“I should hope so.  Because you’re going to have to go to the Land of Nightmares to get him.”

 

Neither of the Riveras had ever heard of it, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out what it was.  Even though they didn’t ask, Lorena said, “It’s where every _coco_ takes their prey.  I think the fear it inspires increases their flavor or something.”

“How do we get there?” was all Imelda asked.

“That’s the easy part,” said the _bruja_ with a grin, looking down into the depths of the chasm next to them.  “Lucky thing your alebrije’s got wings.”

* * *

*Pepita had to wait outside, of course; she just curled up outside the door and kept a silent vigil.

**After all, there’s a big difference between wanting to kill someone and wanting to eat them.

***That is, if either Héctor or Imelda knew what a Kodak was.

****Not especially subtle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Land of Nightmares is my own personal theory for where children captured by these kind of monsters are taken. But it makes sense, no?


	11. Hide and Seek

**Chapter Eleven**

Hide and Seek

Or

Playing a Most Dangerous Game

* * *

The frightened children looked at each other, before looking frantically around for some kind of escape.  The center of the maze provided no answers; it was a dead end. And the whistling was getting farther and farther away.*

Then Miguel looked up at the wall of bones.

“We’re going to have to climb,” he said.  “Maybe he won’t see us up there.”

 

Lupe’s eyes widened in acrophobic horror.

“I can’t-”

“Do you want to stay and get eaten?”

He didn’t know for sure that that was what _El Silbón_ was going to do, but it seemed like a legitimate enough guess.**

Lupe just looked back at Alejandro, her fear finding a new concern to dwell on.  Miguel saw the problem-the boy’s wrist.

He was about to point out that potential damage to an injured limb was not nearly as severe a problem as being killed by an otherworldly monster was, or perhaps suggest using the rope he’d brought to pull him up after them, but another solution suddenly occurred to him, not a moment too soon.

* * *

_He was close, now._

_He could taste their fear in the air, sweeter than the best Madeira wine._

_He had the faintest recollection of what wine was, and what it tasted like, and some part of his instincts knew that this prey would be even better._

_Slowly, ever so slowly he dragged his feet across the bony ground, swinging the sack over his shoulder and whistling, revelling in how the sweet flavor grew stronger at his approach, looking back and forth for them, knowing they were somewhere-_

_They weren’t there._

 

_He stood at the very center of the maze, head turning from side to side in bewilderment._

_His prey was supposed to be here; he could smell them, even feel them close by, the fear and sweat and life coursing through their little bodies arousing his appetite._

_But there was no sign of them._

* * *

There were hollow areas in the wall, in particular near the bottom, where the bones were starting to crumble with age; perhaps not big enough for an adult, but big enough for a few small, relatively thin children to slip into.

Miguel had pushed and jostled the stacks of bones until there was an opening, and hurriedly shooed the younger kids inside before climbing in himself, pulling the bones back in place behind him.

It was nowhere near a comfortable place to hide; they were all squished together in one spot, they could feel the bones from the other side of the wall jabbing into their backs, and behind them was a sheer drop into cloudy, smoky nothingness.***  Regardless, they were there now, and they were watching the ghostly white figure stalking around the tiny corner of the maze.

 

Miguel hardly dared breathe.

He hoped that the monster wouldn’t hear his heart pounding in his ears, but it felt like any second they would be found and-

No, at the moment nothing his imagination could produce seemed more frightening than _El Silbón_ finding them.

Lupe was clutching the femur so hard her knuckles were white, and little flecks of blood were on her lower lip from how hard she kept chewing it.

Alejandro, behind Miguel on his left, was crossing himself over and over while his lips moved in silent prayer.

Miguel quietly put a hand on each of their knees and squeezed quietly; he wasn’t sure the gesture would work, but it did seem to make the tension bleed out of them a little.

 

 _El Silbón_ mostly seemed to be confused.

He just stood there, turning his head this way and that, occasionally starting to move in a certain direction but then pausing and sniffing at the air.

Then, to the childrens’ horror, he took a step in their direction.

Miguel felt a rush of heat rising up from his stomach to his back, pulsing and gripping at the back of his neck, and he forgot how to breathe altogether.

 _El Silbón_ came closer to their hiding place, more purposefully now, letting his sack drop behind him.  He was sniffing loudly, head lowered towards their level of the wall, and for the first time allowing Miguel to get a good look at his face under the sombrero.

 

The eyes were different: no whites or pupils at all, just an eerie golden light filling the sockets.  And the expression was fiercely predatory in a way that he’d never seen it, even in the last few times he’d been in his presence.

But the boy still recognized the square jaw that he used to think was so impressive, and the faint traces of calavera markings decorating the skull, and even the little curl of hair draped across his forehead.

_De la Cruz._

 

As Miguel struggled to process this, his eyes dropped from the _coco's_  face to his arms, and he abruptly noticed that the left hand was missing a finger.

No clues were there as to what had happened to it-it was just...gone, right out of the spot it was supposed to connect with his hand.

It was an odd thing to notice under the circumstances, but it briefly kept him from panicking about the fact that _Ernesto de la Cruz was El Silbón, and Ernesto de la Cruz had stolen him from his world, and Ernesto de la Cruz was any second about to find him and eat him and these other kids, and Holy Mother what had happened to him to make this possible?!_

And then something unexpected occurred.

Namely, Lupe uttered a high, primal scream, and shoved past Miguel to launch herself out of the wall and at de la Cruz, bowling him over with her unexpected attack and then clubbing him over the head.

 

It took the boys a second of being frozen with shock before, without really thinking about it, they snatched up spare bones which were now available from the scattered remains of the wall, and joined in.

Not for long, mind you; they each managed to get a few good hits in, pounding _El Silbón’s_ skull and arms and ribs, before one hand rose and snatched, grabbing Lupe by the throat.

 _El Silbón_ rose to his feet in one fluid movement, lifting her with him, up towards his face, mouth slowly opening.  Lupe’s little hands ineffectually pulled and tugged at his bony fingers and beat at his arm, and she tried kicking him in the ribs, but it only hurt her bare feet.

But then Alejandro was rushing forward and shoving an enormous, broken piece of bone right into the monster’s ribs, giving it a disturbingly vicious twist.

 

For the first time, _El Silbón_ made a sound besides whistling.

He screamed, high and shrill, dropping Lupe to the ground and scrabbling at the object lodged in his middle.

Miguel pulled her to her feet, and yelled, “Run!”

 

The three children raced back down the path they’d come, heedless of the way the bony ground tore at their feet and tried to trip them up.  And a few seconds later the angry bellowing of _El Silbón_ was right behind them.

* * *

*Meaning, of course, that _El Silbón_ was getting closer and closer.

**Far more accurate than he knew.

***Not the most pleasant situation in the world, especially if you were a little queasy about heights because you had been tossed off a high building once upon a time, or if you were just acrophobic for some as-yet undivulged reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dum Dum DUM!!!!!
> 
> Just a note: the chronology vis-a-vis what's happening in the Land of Nightmares and the Land of the Dead is a little screwy; sorry about that. Mostly I'm just trying to vary between them so you can get a clear idea of what's happening where.  
> Regardless, I hope the content of this chapter makes up for its tardiness


	12. Let's split up, gang!

**Chapter Twelve**

Let’s split up, gang!

Or

The Maze Runners

* * *

It quickly became apparent to Miguel that the design of the maze had changed.

There were turns that he was sure hadn’t been there before, and in places the ground rose and dipped anew, sometimes rising up into giant hills or fell into trenches.

_ It’s almost like when we reached the center of the maze, the rest of it switched itself around. _

He wondered if the possibility was all that surprising to him.  It wasn’t.*

 

The three kids scrambled up one of the hills of bones; as they headed back downward, Lupe suddenly lost her footing and nearly face-planted into a cluster of skulls before Miguel managed to catch her.  As he jerked her back upright, a strained cry slipped out from her clenched teeth. He started to pause, to make sure she was okay, but she said quickly, “I’m fine!”

Now the roaring of  _ El Silbón  _ was coming up the hill, and when Miguel looked over his shoulder he could see clearly that the strange magic which affected their pursuer’s whistling didn’t apply to any other vocal sounds he might make, because yes, the tall skeleton was right on their heels, rage and hunger flashing in his golden eyes.

They went stumbling and sliding through the bones, only to find two different paths waiting for them.

 

They were equally dark and shadowy, positioned at what looked like equal angles to each other, without any helpful musical motifs playing to indicate if one was safe or not.**  So for a second all they could do was stand there and stare at them. Unfortunately they didn’t have the leisure to decide which path to take in a calm and rational manner. As the roaring of  _ El Silbón _ came thundering towards them, clearly hungry for their blood, Miguel and Lupe ran into the left tunnel.  And for the first time in this adventure, they both made the mistake of not checking to make sure that Alejandro was behind them.

 

It barely occurred to Miguel that it was hopeless to keep running, since there was nowhere to safely run to and sooner or later this monster was going to catch them.  His instincts were currently on the same level of coherent thought as a frightened rabbit, which can only run and dodge and weave until it can find somewhere to hide.***

There was a corner up ahead; he and Lupe raced towards it.  They were twenty feet away...fifteen...ten-

At nine feet, the ground crumbled beneath them.

* * *

_ Not again! _

It was a ridiculous thought to have, Miguel knew, even as he was falling.  And at least this time he didn’t have quite as far to fall as with the cenote, and definitely not as far as that building.  But the bottom still dropped out of his stomach, and besides, unexpectedly falling is rarely fun unless you’re on a roller coaster or something.

His scream and Lupe’s joined in cacophonic chorus, their limbs flailing helplessly in the air for a second until the hit the new level of ground with a  _ crunch _ .

 

Like I said, it wasn’t as far as it had been with the other times Miguel had been thrown from high places; probably not more than nine feet.  But as they landed, he either heard or felt, he wasn’t quite sure which, something  _ pop _ in his right ankle, followed seconds later by the sharpest pain he could ever remember experiencing in his life.

Miguel managed to curl himself into a ball, wrapping both hands around his ankle and hissing through his teeth, temporarily incapable of anything else.  Next to him he could hear Lupe give a small, pained groan, and then sit up, her tiny body shadowy in the bluish light.****

After a minute the initial shock of pain changed into a semi-endurable dull throb, and Miguel pulled himself up too, but still gripping his ankle with one hand.  He looked up anxiously at the lip of the hole they’d fallen into, expecting to see  _ El Silbón  _ about to start climbing down to his prey.

But there was no sign of the monster.  Looking back at his companions-no, he realized,  _ companion _ .  And his stomach lurched.

“Where’s Alejandro?”

And then, coming closer and closer to them, they could make out the sound of  _ El Silbón _ whistling again, which meant he was back on the hunt.

_ He must have taken the other path.  D_os mio. _

* * *

Lupe let out a horrified gasp, and leaped up, her legs buckling under her a little but rushing frantically to one of the sides of the hole.

“This was  _ your _ fault!” she snapped, whirling around on Miguel.  “You led us to the middle!”

“I didn’t hear you offering any better suggestions!” Miguel shot back.  “It’s not like I knew we couldn’t get out that way!”

He knew what Abuelita would tell him; not to be so hard on her, that she was terrified for her brother and taking it out on him, be nice to her since she was so much younger than him.  At this moment, Miguel could not have cared less.

 

For a moment they stayed where they were, glaring at each other as best they could when they could barely see.  Then, with a sigh, Miguel stood up-and immediately had to sit down again when he tried to put his weight on his ankle.

“What’s the matter?”  Lupe came back to him.

“I think I might have broken something.”

What sounded suspiciously like a hiss of sympathy escaped her teeth.

All Miguel said was, “You go find your brother, see if you can-save him.  I’ll wait here.”

 

“...You’re  _ muy loco _ if you think I can rescue him by myself.”

Miguel shrugged.  “You got  _ El Silbón  _ in a surprise attack once.  I believe in you.” Then he began peeling off his shoes and socks.

“Ugh, what are you  _ doing _ ?!” she demanded.  He could tell by how nasal she had become that she was pinching her nose, and rolled his eyes a little despite the tenseness of the situation.

“It’ll be easier for you to move around if you’re not barefoot.  They’ll be kind of big, but hopefully if you pull the laces tight enough they’ll stay on.”

“I don’t wanna wear anything that’s been around your stinky boy-feet,” she muttered.  But she did put them on, seeming resigned to her new role as brother-savior. Miguel suspected that she’d hurt her own feet with all this running around on bones, so it was the least he could do.  Even if it probably meant his socks were going to be all bloody and gross.

Then he handed her his backpack.  “There’s some stuff in here that might help.”

Feeling around inside, Lupe found the matches.  “Cool! Tía Dolores never lets us near these.” Then, unexpectedly, she ripped off one of her already-torn pajama legs, and he could make out her wrapping it around the top of her femur club.

“...What are you doing?”

“Making a torch.  I saw it work in a movie once.”

 

Lupe straightened up, and then suddenly handed Miguel some of the matches.

“Just in case.”

“ _ Gracias _ .”  He tucked them into the pocket of his hoodie, then watched as Lupe swung the backpack over her shoulders, tucking her makeshift torch into it for the time being, and then approached the bony wall again.

The trepidation she must have felt about heights was currently dwarfed by comparison of her instinctive need to look after her brother; with only a moment’s hesitation she started climbing, pulling herself along until she reached the top of the hole and scrambled up over it.

“We’ll come find you afterwards!” she called down.  “I promise!”

Then she was gone, leaving Miguel alone in the dark.

* * *

*By now, he was beginning to think that nothing in this place could surprise him anymore.  Which, obviously, was tempting fate in a big way.

**Sadly, in real life this is often the case.

***At least they weren’t the instincts of a  _ terrified _ rabbit, because then he’d probably be frozen in place until  _ El Silbón  _ caught him.

****At some point they had dropped the flashlight, and who knew where it was now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone can guess which movie Lupe is talking about, you get a metaphorical medal.  
> ...Which, I guess, isn't actually a lot of motivation to try to figure it out.  
> But it's a very nice medal. Gold, with a star.  
> And a colored ribbon.


	13. The Lupe POV

**Chapter Thirteen**

The Lupe POV

Or

For whom the bell tolls

* * *

 

Lupe Contreras struck a match, and then tried to use it to light her makeshift torch.  And after the flame quickly ate through the material of her pajamas and died, she remembered that in the movie she’d seen, the guy had dunked the cloth-wrapped bone into some oily stuff to keep it lit.  With a glare of annoyance, she stuffed the matches back into the backpack, and brought out the pocketknife instead, and used another strip from her pajamas to tie it, blade out, to the end of her femur club.  Whether or not it would do any good against  _ El Silbón _ , it made her feel a little more secure.  Then she headed back down the path she and Miguel had run, and upon reaching the crossroads they had found, hurried as best she could down the right side through the darkness.

 

Ever since they had finally left her father* and come to live with her mother’s sister and her family, nobody-not Mamá, not Tía Dolores, not Marisol-thought Lupe was capable of doing anything for herself.  They kind of treated Alejandro like that too, but most of their concern and overprotectiveness was focused on Lupe. They acted like she was a glass figurine, like she was going to fall apart if she ever had any strenuous responsibilities or tried to be in charge of anything.  And she was so, so tired of it, and the way that they didn’t listen when she tried to tell them that she didn’t  _ need  _ to be treated like that anymore, and could handle herself.

The worst part, she realized with surprising astuteness for an eight-year-old, was that Mamá probably thought she and Alejandro had run off and gotten themselves lost in the desert or something, so even if they did make it home they’d just be more protected and sheltered than ever.**

But surprisingly, part of her didn’t care.  It thought that it would be worth it, if they could just all manage to get home alive.

 

Lupe followed the sound of the whistling,*** feeling her heart in her mouth as she rushed up and down bony trails, hoping against hope that  _ please please please El Señor let her brother be all right _ .

And then there they were:  _ El Silbón _ , lowering his sack to the ground and reaching out with his bony hands towards Alejandro, who had evidently managed to ignore his still-injured wrist enough to climb halfway up one of the walls, and was now trying to climb the rest of the way, but his feet kept slipping out from under him and his wrist was evidently still giving him trouble.

Lupe decided to return the favor from their previous fight with the monster, and charged, thrusting the blade of her makeshift spear into  _ El Silbón’s _ back.

 

_ El Silbón  _ gave another one of those horrible screeches, whirling on her and, very unfortunately, knocking the spear from her grasp.

She stumbled, nearly falling right on her back, but managed to grab onto one of the walls for balance.  She looked for a loose bone, a skull,  _ something _ she could use as another weapon, as  _ El Silbón _ pulled the spear from between his ribs and tossed it aside.  Behind him, Alejandro half climbed, half fell back down the wall.

Lupe gulped a little as the whistler stalked closer, glaring down at her with eyes of gold-

And then, from above, deus ex machina arrived.

* * *

Neither of the Contreras siblings knew the phrase “deus ex machina” yet, so all they knew was that in this case, it was the sound of a giant bell.  And then, looking up, they amended the definition to the sight of-Lupe blinked in bewilderment but no, it still appeared to be true-a giant, green, flying cat that had a large bell around its neck,**** swooping down towards them.

The image was so out of place even for here that all they could do was stare up at it for a moment, blinking stupidly at the unexpected sight.  Had they been a little older or more familiar with even more of the darker aspects of the world, they might possibly have wondered if there was some kind of illegal substance they had been inhaling.

 

Lupe glanced over at her brother to check if he was seeing this too-and to her further bewilderment,  _ El Silbón  _ was gone.

No sign as to where he had gone, he’d just-vanished.

Then the giant cat was landing with a thud in the maze before them, bones crunching and crumbling under her huge paws, and allowing them to see that there were three skeletons and assorted multicolored animals crowded together on its back.

Lupe was also as yet unfamiliar with the phrase “out of the frying pan, into the fire,” but when she saw that yet more skeletons had arrived, that general feeling was honestly the first thing that came to mind; that perhaps these creatures were rivals of the first skeleton, who had come to steal his prey so they could eat it themselves.  So her knee-jerk reaction was to grab the spear, rush over to stand protectively in front of her brother, and point her weapon at these new arrivals, yelling at the top of her lungs, “Stay back!”

 

Two of the skeletons-a severe-looking woman in a purple dress, and a man with a somewhat decrepit straw hat-looked at each other in confusion.  The third, who was sitting by the cat’s tail with one of the smaller dogs on her lap, just looked like she was trying not to laugh.

Then the skeleton man carefully slid off the cat’s back, holding up his hands in a placating way that looked startlingly familiar.

“It’s okay, niños.  We’re here to help you.  We’re Miguel’s  _ familia _ .”

“Except me,” said the skeleton with the braids, “I just came along for the ride.”  She frowned thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, I’m not too sure who or where my family is anymore...though I must have at least some, if I haven’t been forgotten already…”  Her speech devolved into quiet muttering to herself.

 

The other two skeletons ignored her; instead, the one in the purple dress jumped off the cat too and began dusting off her skirts.

Lupe brandished her spear more fiercely, ignoring the way her hands trembled the tiniest bit.  Then, to her astonishment, Alejandro swept past her and approached them without apparent fear.

“You’re Miguel’s Papá Héctor!”

The skeleton blinked.  “How did you know that?”

“They’ve been making a museum about you in the shoe shop.  And Miguel told us that he went to the Land of the Dead and got to meet some of you, and then when we found the center of the maze we saw a skeleton who looked like you-”

He was interrupted by the woman, who Lupe realized must be Imelda Rivera, demanding, “Where is Miguel?!”

Lupe swallowed, suddenly feeling a rock growing in the pit of her stomach at the anxiety in the older woman’s voice.  “I-he was hurt, and I had to find my brother-”

“So you left him alone?!”  Imelda’s tone became very quickly outraged.  “De la Cruz could have found him by now!”

Lupe blinked.  “De la Cruz?”

 

Before either of Miguel’s ancestors could explain, one of the other strange animals flopped off the cat’s back, landing in an ungainly heap before somehow scrambling up onto his feet, revealing himself to be a rainbow-colored dog with a pair of scrawny wings.*****

Héctor pulled a strip of red cloth out of a pocket of his vest, and held it out for the dog.  He sniffed at it eagerly, and then blew out a stream of breath that revealed a series of glowing shoeprints...leading right to Lupe.

She looked down at her feet, and then gave them a sheepish look.  “He let me borrow his shoes.”

Imelda made an annoyed sound, and smacked the dog on the ear.  With an indignant whine, he tried again, and this time he excitedly rushed off into the labyrinth, following a fresh trail of bare footprints that appeared.  Héctor was right on his heels, and now that she knew there was hope for finding her grandson, Imelda took a moment to help these two strange children climb onto the cat’s back, before the rest of the group took off after him.

* * *

*Her real life one, not the one in the hallucination or whatever it was.

**That is, if their mother and aunt ever decided to un-ground them for disappearing like that and scaring everyone to death.

***Or rather, didn’t follow it.  Or followed it in the opposite direction.  Ah, you know what I mean.

****And didn’t look all too pleased about it.

*****At that point, Lupe gave up being surprised.


	14. A family reunion (finally!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry for how late this is. I have no decent excuse.  
> Hopefully the fluff of this chapter will make up for it.

**Chapter Fourteen**

A family reunion (finally!)

Or

Papá Héctor the mother hen

* * *

For a while, Miguel just sat in the dark, hugging his knees and jumping at what he hoped were imaginary sounds.  Then, quietly, he began singing to himself again, whatever songs happened to pop into his head. Once he thought he saw a flash of white at the edge of the pit, but when he looked up nothing was there, so he decided he must have imagined it.

Occasionally he moved his ankle around, trying to see if it was any better.  It didn’t hurt as much as it had when he first landed in this pit, but it still throbbed, and if he squinted he thought it looked swollen.

 

He wondered how long he’d been trapped in this place.

He wondered what had happened to his new friends, if they were still alive, if they would be back soon and find some way of getting him out of here.

He wondered why he hadn’t thought to bring more useful things in his bag, like some water, or maybe a few candy bars, or-

He pinched himself.   _ Stop thinking about food. _

His stomach growled in retaliation, and his throat ached like it had been rubbed with sandpaper from his family’s shoemaking shop.

Miguel swallowed as best he could, and curled up, hugging his knees, and tried not to think that he was never going to get out of here.

* * *

After a moment he began singing again, despite how croaky his voice had become.

 

_ What color’s the sky, _

_ Ay mi amor, ay mi amor? _

_ You tell me that it’s red, _

_ Ay mi amor, ay mi amor! _

_ Where should I put my shoes, _

_ Ay mi amor, ay mi amor? _

_ You say, “Put them on your head!” _

_ Ay mi amor, ay mi amor! _

 

Miguel smiled a little mirthlessly to himself as he sang the second set of lines, reminding him of where he had put his own shoes.  He was just about to start the chorus, when he froze, tilting his head. For a brief second, he wasn’t sure if he’d really heard what he thought he’d heard-but then there it was again.  A familiar, exuberant barking, coming closer and closer.

Then an even more familiar multicolored head came into view above him, staring down with ridiculously long tongue lolling, and let out another excited yelp.

Miguel squinted at him in disbelief.  “Dante?”

But then his breath caught in his throat and his stomach lurched as another familiar face appeared by the dog, his features lit up by the alebrije’s glow.

_ Oh no. _

_ Not again. _

_ Not another hallucination. _

* * *

Héctor sighed in relief.

Miguel was still alive, albeit at the bottom of a giant pit.

_ What is it with this boy and being stuck in holes in the ground? _

He could hear his inner Imelda scolding him:  _ That’s not funny, Héctor _ .

Carelessly the skeleton tossed himself down into the pit, reassembling his scattered bones a few seconds later.  Dante dove in after him, landing with about the same level of grace.*

To their equal surprise, Miguel scrambled backwards, pressing himself up against the bony wall as his eyes became big and frightened, hands scrabbling frantically until he managed to pull free a** rib, which he brandished in front of him, trembling.

“...Chamaco?”  Héctor stepped forward, slowly kneeling down until he was on eye level with him.  “It’s me.”

No response.  The boy just stared, breath starting to come in short, sharp gasps, the hand with the rib shaking harder.

Feeling more than a little concerned now, Héctor tried again.  “I came to get you out of here. You’re okay now, I promise.”

Miguel blinked, but other than that there was no visible reaction.

Héctor tilted his head-and then his eyes landed on Miguel’s ankle.***

 

“Ay!” he exclaimed, “What have you done to yourself?”

Without thinking about it, he leaned forward and pushed back part of Miguel’s pant leg to get a better look.  The boy’s ankle had swollen to almost twice its size, and as best he could tell from Dante’s lighting, it had changed some unpleasant color.

A hiss of sympathy passed between his teeth, so he didn’t hear his great-great-grandson’s startled gasp; he didn’t even see the way Miguel’s expression changed, or how he slowly lowered his “weapon.”

“We need to get Imelda to look at this, she can tell better than me if it’s broken or-oof!”

 

If Héctor had still had breath in his body, it would have been completely knocked out of him.  As it was, he nearly fell flat on his back from the impact of Miguel surging forward and wrapping both arms around his ribcage.

He managed to keep his balance, however, and quickly returned the hug.  Dante, with a soft whimper, scooted around until he was able to lay his chin on Miguel’s shoulder, before giving his master’s neck the beginnings of a very generous bath.

 

“You’re really here,” Miguel finally whispered, arms tightening for a moment before pulling back enough to see his great-great-grandpa’s face.  Joy and the slightest hint of relief danced in his eyes.

“In the flesh,” Héctor reassured him.  Then he added sheepishly, “Sort of.”

Miguel giggled, before turning serious again.  “I wasn’t sure at first. There’s...been some pretty  _ loco _ things down here.”

Héctor cupped the back of his head for a second. “I’m so sorry,  _ chamaco _ .  We didn’t know about this place, or we’d have found you sooner.”

Miguel rubbed his face on his sleeve.  “I knew if you could find me, you would.”

“Well, we had a little help when we found your friends-”

“They’re okay?”  His relief became even more blatant.

“ _ Si, _ they’re fine.  Let’s go find them, yeah?”

Miguel nodded eagerly.

 

Héctor turned, and before the boy realized what he was doing he’d hoisted him onto his back.

“I’m-” Miguel began to protest.

“You’re not fine,” Héctor interrupted.  “There’s no way I’m letting you try to walk.”

“It barely even hurts anymore!”

The look Héctor gave him, spinning his head all the way around,**** was unmoved.  Then, showing far more agility and physical strength than someone without muscles had a right to, he began climbing the side of the wall.

Miguel held on with a resigned smile, as Dante flew ahead of them on his ridiculous tiny wings.

And finally he began to feel safe.

* * *

*Though with less disassembly involved.

**Somewhat small.

***Not literally, though such incidents were not uncommon for him.

****If it hadn’t been the great-great-grandpa who he loved and who he’d missed so much, and whose quirks he’d seen before, Miguel might have been more than a little creeped out.


	15. Another crossroads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter, I'm afraid.  
> The end is near!

**Chapter Fifteen**

Another crossroads

Or

The  _ bruja _ drops a small bombshell

* * *

 

As soon as the rest of the group caught up with them, Imelda wasted no time showering her grandson’s face with kisses and fussing over what a mess he was thanks to his adventures.  She also gasped in horror when she saw his ankle, which was either broken or had a really bad sprain as best she could tell, and either way was definitely going to need medical attention.

“I am tempted never to let you out of my sight again,” she scolded, producing a thing of gauze  she’d picked up while they were getting the giant bell for Pepita and wrapping it around his injury.  “You’re lucky you’re still alive,  _ mijo _ .”

There were several ways Miguel could have interpreted that, but he just smiled sheepishly at her and scratched Dante’s ears.

 

Once his ankle was wrapped, Imelda pulled a finger bone out of her apron pocket as she helped him up.

Miguel stared at it in slightly disturbed confusion for a moment, before realizing, “That’s de la Cruz’s finger.”

Imelda nodded grimly.  “ _ She _ -” she pointed to the woman with the braids, who Héctor had briefly explained was a  _ bruja _ before his wife took over caring for the boy- “says he needs to have it reattached to break the curse and turn him back to himself.”  She gave her alebrije an appraising look. “For everyone to fit on the way home, Pepita is going to have to carry him in her claws, I suppose.  While you children can ride in the middle, with the animals that can’t fly-”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about de la Cruz,” the  _ bruja _ interrupted.

Imelda’s eyes narrowed.  “Why not?”

She received a look of mock surprise in return.  “Didn’t I tell you? When you return his memories to him, they’ll bind him here for the rest of eternity.  He won’t be able to leave, ever.”

* * *

 

“What?!” Héctor exploded, stomping towards the  _ bruja _ .  “How can you-”

“What are  _ you _ complaining about?” the  _ bruja  _ demanded, as her own alebrije flared his neck feathers and hissed warningly.  “He  _ murdered _ you, he ruined your afterlife and he’s tried to kill your boy at least  _ three times _ !  And do you know what?”  She jabbed the tip of her finger into his chest.  “He is  _ never _ going to stop trying, as long as he has the power to do otherwise.  You of all people should know that-his philosophy about doing ‘whatever it takes’ to get what he wants, not letting petty things like morals get in his way.”

Héctor couldn’t help stepping back a little under the onslaught, but Lorena was relentless.  “And what else, exactly, do you think you’re going to do? Have Miguel tie a bell to his wrist for the rest of his life and hope  _ El Silbón _ doesn’t take some other child instead?”  Her other hand pointed to the Contreras children, who were sitting side by side on Pepita’s back.  “Because that’s a  _ great _ kind of life to have.”

“We can bring him back to the Land of the Dead and reattach his finger there!” Imelda argued.  “Then we can turn him over to the Department of Family Reunions!”

Lorena grabbed her hair in each hand and pulled in frustration.  “Haven’t you people heard  _ anything _ I’ve said?  As long as Miguel is alive, Ernesto is going to be looking for ways to take 

out his revenge on him.  Probably even after that.  This whole mess needs to end now-take it or leave it!”

 

In the heat of the moment, none of them saw the attack coming until it was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dum DUM DUMMMM!!!!!!


	16. Return of a soul

**Chapter Sixteen**

Return of a soul

Or

Ernesto gets the finger*

* * *

_ He didn’t bother whistling this time, didn’t bother with any kind of warning.  He just charged for his prey-the one in bright red, the one who he didn’t know why, but he wanted to feast on more than anything else. _

_ Several things tried to get in his way, some big, some smaller, none of them good to eat-he flung or kicked them aside like scraps of paper, roaring; he was not going to be denied a moment longer. _

_ The only thing that drew him up short was when one of the other creatures flung itself right into his path, and tried to push him back.  Something about its eyes brought that back again-that memory of a memory, telling him that he knew this little creature from the Before time, that it had been important in some way, like music.  The place between his ribs and hips suddenly lurched, and he felt the strangest desire to be far, far away from here. _

_ He didn’t hesitate long, though; with a snarl of rage he threw the creature aside, not even noticing as it hit a wall and shattered into pieces, feeling a tiny amount of satisfaction that whatever it had been to him Before, it hadn’t been much trouble at all now.  He just snatched up his prey by the throat, lifting it into the air as it squirmed and wriggled. _

 

_ The fear rising from it was so rich and strong he could almost taste it already.  If he’d had lips, and a tongue to lick them with, he would have done so as he lowered his arm towards his face, opening his jaws to have his first meal- _

 

_ Click _ .

 

It was a very small sound, somewhere between a click and a pop, actually.

But it echoed through the tiny corner of the labyrinth, and  _ El Silbón _ froze, finally looking down at his free hand.

Specifically at the finger which had just been pushed back into its socket by the disembodied arm now rapidly crawling back to its body.

* * *

When Imelda was thrown aside by de la Cruz, she’d dropped his finger, which nearly fell through a space in the bones that created the floor of this hellish place, but as Héctor’s bones scattered from being thrown into the wall, his arm managed to lunge over and snatch it up.  And then he’d seen that Miguel was about to have his soul devoured, and just like that, the choice about what to do had become the simplest thing in the world.

Now he scrambled to his feet as he finished reattaching himself, and rushed forward just in time to catch Miguel, who was falling from de la Cruz’s suddenly loose grip towards the ground, and carefully braced the boy against his shoulder.  He stared at his old friend’s left hand, where an angry, red-gold light was starting to spread up his arm towards the rest of his body.

And then the screaming started.

 

The little group stood petrified, watching in horrified fascination** as de la Cruz bucked and squirmed in place, screeching in a way that didn’t even sound like a human voice anymore.  That light soon covered his entire body, and his bones began to emit smoke. He also started shrinking a little, returning to his original height and build, clutching his skull in both hands.  The  _ coco _ collapsed to his knees, and then fell all the way to the ground in a clatter of bones, just as the light became so blinding they all had to close their eyes and turn their heads.

 

When Héctor was finally able to turn back, there was Ernesto de la Cruz lying stretched out on the ground, wearing the tattered remains of a  _ charro _ suit that he wouldn’t have been caught dead in*** when they were still friends.  His eyes were closed, and his head lolled, like he was asleep or drunk.

“That was a quicker transformation than when he first took the potion,” the  _ bruja _ commented.  “Interesting.”

Héctor ignored her.  He ignored everyone. He was busy staring at his hands, which were shaking as the impact of what he’d just done hit him.

But then his wife and grandson were each taking one of his arms, and leading him away towards Pepita.

“There’s nothing we can do now,” Imelda said softly.  “We need to get Miguel home.”

He didn’t answer.

 

And then, as they were loading everyone**** up onto the big alebrije he heard a rustling, and a hoarse, weak voice call out in bewilderment, “Héctor?”

Héctor stiffened briefly, but he didn’t turn around.

None of them did.

Imelda just gave the signal to Pepita, who swiftly took flight.

* * *

*Come on, did you really think I was going to miss a chance to make that joke?

**Except the  _ bruja _ , who just looked fascinated.

***Ha ha.

****Including the somewhat-battered and bruised dogs, who had tried to leap to Miguel’s defense when de la Cruz attacked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if they seem super heartless at the end.  
> But Ernesto's had a second chance.  
> And a SECOND second chance.  
> And he squandered them all.


	17. Hello Goodbye

**Chapter Seventeen**

Hello Goodbye

Or

There’s no place like home

* * *

The flight away from the Land of Nightmares was very solemn.

Lupe, as soon as they took off, buried her face in Pepita’s fur and requested that they “tell her when it was over.”  Alejandro, on the other hand, perched right up by the giant alebrije’s head with one of the chihuahuas cradled in his lap and the other two on either side of him, and occasionally urged her to go faster, grinning with excitement as the wind blew his hair back and forced him to squint his eyes practically shut.

Lorena, apparently understanding that she was  _ persona non grata _ with the others right now, rode on the back of Quixote, who was somehow strong enough to support her weight.*

Dante flew by her side, sometimes turning somersaults in midair out of sheer joy at having his boy back.

 

As for the Riveras, they sat huddled together, with Miguel sandwiched in the middle as he told them everything.

Imelda shook her head in exasperated affection when he told them that he’d stolen from their graves in an attempt to get cursed again, because he’d thought they would be in the Land of the Dead.

“ _ Ay _ , what are we going to do with you?” she scolded (again).  “Did you not pay attention the last time that happened?”

“I had to try to save them!” Miguel protested, indicating his new friends.  “It would’ve been wrong to just hide and do nothing!”

To her chagrin, Imelda couldn’t really argue with that.

Héctor didn’t say a word as the story was told; he just sat with his arm around Miguel, taking in what he said but looking a bit lost in his own haunted thoughts at the same time.  All the boy could think of to do in return was lean into his side and squeeze his hand in an attempt to be comforting. He couldn’t tell if it helped.

 

Eventually, the little group emerged from the horrid blackness into the wonderful brightness of the Land of the Dead, which, even in the outskirts, was still better than where they had just been.

The  _ bruja _ and her alebrije took her leave, swooping towards her shack down below with an impudent wave goodbye.  Miguel shivered, hoping he never had to see her again.

As they got close to the city limits, even Lupe plucked up enough courage to stop inhaling spirit cat fur and stare in wonder at their brilliant surroundings, laughing in delight when other flocks of alebrijes flew past.

“Niños,” Imelda addressed her and her brother, “who is your family?  We can take you to them to get their blessing; hopefully that will help you return to the Land of the Living.”

The siblings looked at each other, and then Lupe said, “On our mother’s side we have Papá Joaquin.  He was a great war hero, who helped defeat Chakal-”

“ _ Si _ , I know who that is,” Imelda reassured them.  “We have made a great many shoes for that family.”

She steered Pepita in the correct direction.

 

At the  _ casa _ , Imelda pounded on the door until it was opened by a very bewildered-looking old skeleton; even late in life, he had been very tall and broad-shouldered, with a full head of white hair and a very manly mustache.  His bones somehow retained the number of scars he’d acquired in the many battles he’d fought, and he stared down at the woman through one confused green eye.**

“Señora Rivera?” he asked.  “What can I-”

Imelda didn’t let him finish.  “Don’t ask any questions.” She pointed to Lupe and Alejandro as they descended from Pepita’s back.  “These two need to go home  _ right now _ , and for that they need you to use these  _ cémpazuchitl  _ petals-” she pulled the flower out of her apron pocket and handed him two petals- “and give them your family’s blessing.   _ Comprende _ ?”

“Wha-but how-”  He faltered under her forbidding glare, and looked over at the children sheepishly.

“...You will write a letter to explain all this on Dia de Muertos, right niños?”

“Si, Papá Joaquin.”

 

Even though they regretted it, there was no time to be spent looking for the rest of the Rivera clan.

“Tell them that I wish I could have visited, okay?” Miguel asked plaintively, wrapping his arms around both his great-great-grandparents and feeling them hug him back.  “And tell Mamá Coco that all of us miss her so much, and that my sister has her eyes.”

“We will,  _ mijo _ ,” Héctor whispered against his hair, finally breaking his silence.

“And you’re all gonna come for Dia de Muertos, right?”  Miguel tightened his hold around their respective ribs. “Even if I can’t see you?”

“We’ll be there,” Imelda reassured him.  Then she gently but firmly extricated herself and plucked a petal from the  _ cémpazuchitl _ .

“Miguel, we give you our blessing to go home, and to get these two safely to their own home.”

With one last look at both his ancestors, Miguel accepted the petal.

* * *

When the golden light cleared away, he, Lupe and Alejandro were standing right outside the front door of the Rivera house.  Just in time for Luisa to open it and let out a scream of shock, pressing one hand to her heart.

Miguel smiled sheepishly, trying his best to balance on his good leg.

“I found them.”

* * *

*It probably helped that she was just a bundle of bones and scraps of cloth, basically.

**The other was covered by a large black patch, which combined with the scars made him look a little like a  _ bandito _ himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Repent, sinners! The end is near!  
> I'm sorry it's taken so long for me to get around to finishing this. I'll post the last chapter soon, cross my heart.


	18. Epilogue

**Chapter Eighteen**

Epilogue

Or

A hard day’s night

* * *

It turned out that the search party organized by Marisol’s mother and aunt had returned an hour ago, and when Luisa asked where Miguel was, told her that they never asked him to be part of their group.

Needless to say, this meant that Miguel was soon receiving more than a bit of an earful from both his mother and abuelita, even as the lost sheep who had returned* were having their numerous injuries tended to.

It helped a little that he’d actually found the missing children,** but he was still grounded until Abuelita said otherwise.

Miguel was too tired and relieved to protest.

 

Eventually, he was pumped with as many painkillers as it was safe to give him and sent to bed; to his surprise, he wasn’t sent to his room.  His mother steered him into the one she, his father and the baby shared, before sitting up on the bed with her back pressed against the wall.  Then she tugged Miguel until he was laying down with his head in her lap, her long fingers gently stroking his hair.

“I thought I’d lost you again,” she whispered.

At that Miguel got a bit of a lump in his throat, and hugged her legs.

“I’m sorry,  _ mamá _ ,” he whispered back.  “I just...wanted to find them.”

“A chance for you to be a hero is not worth losing you,” she said, and now he could hear the tears in her voice.

“But-I didn’t want their  _ mamá _ to have to lose them either.”

Another technically not-lie.

Something damp landed on his ear; he tried to pretend he hadn’t felt it, and squeezed her legs more tightly.

 

He was a little afraid to try to go to sleep; both because of what he might see when he closed his eyes, and of what his reaction might be.  Miguel didn’t want his family asking questions he couldn’t give satisfactory answers to, and if they heard him moaning in his sleep about Papá Héctor or  _ El Silbón _ , they would definitely be asking those questions.

But the feeling of Luisa’s fingers running through his hair, and the warmth and comfort of knowing that he was home and she was with him (and his papá and sister too, when they came in and got ready for bed) meant that eventually, his eyes slid closed.

 

Outside, Dante and three chihuahuas lay in a comfortable heap under the window.

* * *

It had been the right decision.

That had to be the truth.

As awful as it was, the  _ bruja _ had been right-Ernesto would never have stopped trying to hurt his family unless he could never come near them again.  And he had been about to start devouring Miguel’s soul; he  _ had _ to have made the right choice.

 

And yet.

And yet Héctor’s thoughts were not of  _ El Silbón _ , or even of the suave man who had heartlessly murdered him for his music.

They were of two scrawny boys, sitting on*** the fountain in the plaza, messing around with guitars as they thought about how someday, the whole world was going to know their names as the greatest musicians in all of Mexico.  Just laughing and playing and being carefree best friends.

He didn’t know when that had changed between them.  Or if it had only ever been real for him.

Either way, Héctor didn’t rejoice for what he’d had to do.

He mourned.

 

Imelda couldn’t feel quite the same level of pain as her husband.  As she had proven in the past almost-century, she was  _ muy _ good at holding a grudge, especially towards anyone who hurt her family.

But she could be sad that Héctor was in so much pain, at least.

So once they rounded up the rest of the family and returned home, she gave a cursory explanation and promised to tell them everything in greater detail later, before taking Héctor’s hand and leading him to her room.

There were no words; they just laid their shoes and Héctor’s hat in a corner, and then with some small guidance on Imelda’s part her husband lay down on one corner of the bed, facing the wall.  Imelda lay down behind him and tucked them both in, before draping one arm over his chest and pulling him against her.**** She just held him as he mourned quietly.

 

After a long time, Imelda whispered into his hair, “I’m sorry,  _ mi amor _ .”

Héctor didn’t say anything, but one of his arms reached up, a hand wrapped around her wrist and squeezed in silent gratitude.

She waited until she was sure he’d fallen asleep before she dared close her eyes.

 

Later the next day, Pepita would be persuaded to fly back down to the Land of Nightmares, where a large basket would be left in the center of the maze containing some  _ pan de muertos _ , a good bottle of tequila, and a guitar with some spare strings.

Because whether he deserved it or not, Héctor would not wish an afterlife completely without comfort on Ernesto.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the far corner of the Land of the Dead, the  _ bruja _ hummed happily to herself as she gathered some things into a bundle on the end of a stick, because stereotypes always have some kind of basis in origin.  Quixote sat on the table, dipping his beak into the goblet and making appreciative gulping sounds.

Suddenly her head jerked up, and she looked at a shadowy corner of the shack with narrowed eyes.

“I know you’re there,” she said aloud.

After a few seconds, there was a faint hissing noise, and then a very bizarre snake slithered into view.

For one thing, it was bright purple.

For another, there was a look in its golden eyes that was far more intelligent than the average reptile.*****

Oh, and it had two heads, one at each end of its body.

 

Lorena looked down at it with interest and amusement, arms folded.

“You can tell your master that he lost.”

Both heads hissed with displeasure, and it started to rear up as if about to strike-until suddenly both necks were being pinned down by large, hooked claws, and a warning hiss rent the air.

“None of that,” Lorena scolded, shaking a finger at them.  Then she nodded to Quixote, who released the snake. It (they?) glared at them reproachfully, and then disappeared back into the shadows.

 

After another two minutes, during which she finished tying off the bundle, a golden light appeared, and soon she was surrounded by the familiar swirl of  _ cémpazuchitl  _ petals.

* * *

On a remote road in Mexico, somewhere between Santa Cecilia and the place that used to be known as San Angel, a brief light split the air, and then a small figure fell into the dirt with a graceless thump.

After taking a moment to catch her breath, she pulled herself onto her feet and dusted herself off, revealing a woman who was no longer in her first youth but still shy of middle age, with long ropey hair and clothes that were more patches than the original material.  She looked down at her hands, and grinned with triumphant delight.

A few seconds later a large brown owl flapped down onto her shoulder, and nudged affectionately at her ear.

The  _ bruja _ put her stick and bundle onto her other shoulder, and then set out to explore this strange new world that was the twenty-first century.

* * *

*Metaphorically speaking, of course.

**Their story was that Lupe and Alejandro had wandered into the desert on a dare and fallen into a hole, and Miguel had fallen into the same one when he came looking for them and hurt his ankle (which turned out to be a sprain that would take weeks to heal properly), but they’d managed to pull each other out and make their way back.  It wasn’t completely the truth, but what else could they tell anyone that they would believe?

***Or even  _ in _ , if it was a hot day.

****Even if they had been inclined towards anything else, which they weren’t, there was only so much you could do when you were both made of bones.  Annnnd this is getting into kind of a weird area, so I’m just going to keep going.

*****Contrary to popular belief, snakes are actually not all that smart.  Their thought processes are limited to what scientists call the four F’s: feed, flee, fight, and...sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I told you I'd finish soon.  
> And I even left a potential sequel hook, in case I get inspired or if someone else who wants to adopt it gets inspired-mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha.  
> I hope with all my heart that this meets everyone's expectations.  
> Adios, amigos.


End file.
